


in the arms of the light

by whiskybusiness



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Kind of like a Moonlight AU i guess?, M/M, Past Relationship(s), sadboi park seonghwa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 00:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19735009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskybusiness/pseuds/whiskybusiness
Summary: “And this is,” Hongjoong hesitates with one hand gesturing to Seonghwa. “This is my — um — ”“We were trainees together,” Seonghwa cuts in, forcing himself to sound normal. “It feels like so long ago, doesn’t it?”Hongjoong holds his eyes. “It’s been ten years.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ohhhhh man i saw em yall... i saw em at kcon and i was EMO 
> 
> so basically seonghwa and joong had a lil thing as trainees together but then seonghwa had to quit and they lost contact for 10 yrs and seonghwa becomes a restaurant owner and joong is an idol then they meet by ~chance~~ and the rest as they say is herstory 
> 
> note: they are 18 when seonghwa quits and 28 when the fic starts !

The thing no one tells you about owning a restaurant is how much paperwork there is. It makes sense to Seonghwa, of course, the need for regulations and rules that make sure he’s not serving people gourmet swine flu, but still. He thought after getting two Michelin stars this constant back and forth with the Health Department - and every other interested government official - would become more like, a yearly thing at most. But no, he still finds most of his days are taken up with forms, applications, files, and more forms. 

He could, technically, outsource the work to his assistant. But it’s important stuff, and Seonghwa honestly isn’t sure Chanyoung would pay enough attention to detail to make sure they aren’t shut down for health code violations. 

Speaking of the devil, someone knocks loudly on the door to Seonghwa’s office. 

“Seonghwa-ssi,” comes Chanyoung’s voice from behind the door. He sounds frantic, but then again, Seonghwa’s never really heard him sound relaxed. “Seonghwa-ssi, there’s, um, a situation, if you could, like, help.” 

Sighing, Seonghwa stands and pulls open the door. Chanyoung breathes out in relief at the sight of him, slumping against the door frame. “Seonghwa-ssi! Sorry to bother you.” 

Seonghwa waves off his apology. “What’s going on?” he asks, walking out of the office. Can’t be anything too bad, or else Chanyoung would be hyperventilating. Probably just an angry customer. 

“Oh, well, there’s someone - famous? I think,” Chanyoung says, somewhat hesitantly. “There’s a lot of people crowded around him, asking for pictures and stuff. It’s kind of getting out of hand.”

Seonghwa relaxes almost imperceptibly. Nothing major at all. “An idol?”

“Maybe,” Chanyoung replies, face brightening. “He’s got the look, now that I think of it.” 

“You don’t know who he is, though?”

Chanyoung frowns. “No, but I don’t really follow that kind of stuff.” He puts his hand on Seonghwa’s arm excitedly. “But I can ask him and let you know!” 

Seonghwa looks pointedly down at where his assistant is touching him and Chanyoung removes his hand in a hurry. 

“No, I’ll take care of it,” Seonghwa says. “Keep an eye on my office while I’m gone.” 

“Yes, sir!” Chanyoung says, and hurries back. 

Approaching the restaurant, Seonghwa mentally prepares for the pain of dealing not only with the undoubtedly huge ego of an idol, but also the entitled caterwauling of his sasaengs. He’s had to do it before - owning one of the best rated restaurants in Seoul ensures that at least a few b-list celebrities will stop by during any given month - but Seonghwa’s deadly resting bitch face, combined with his crisp suits, usually ensures that any trouble is dealt with efficiently and with minimal fuss. If he’s being honest, he kind of enjoys it, the way the idols are surprised that he doesn’t fawn over them or offer them free food, even if they won’t complain about it outright. And it’s always a good day when Seonghwa gets to threaten to call the police when the fans don’t sit the fuck down or get out.

He steels himself for what’s to come and approaches the crowd of people huddled around a booth in the front of the restaurant. “Excuse me,” he says loudly. No one pays him any attention. He can’t even see the idol, the source of this latest headache, between the jostling bodies. “Excuse me!” he tries again, and that gets the attention of a few people at the back of the crowd, who promptly go back to pushing forward with the rest of the group. 

Alright then. “IF YOU DON'T SIT DOWN AND ORDER FOOD RIGHT NOW I WILL CALL THE POLICE,” Seonghwa shouts. That gets their attention finally, and the crowd quiets down and looks at him. “Immediately,” he adds smugly, and gestures to the door. "Exit is that way." 

The crowd murmurs in displeasure but begins to break up, heading slowly for the door. Seonghwa watches them for a moment to make sure they actually leave. 

When he looks back to deal with the guy at the table, he meets a pair of wide brown eyes. _Familiar_ eyes.

His heart thuds to a stop. He scans the rest of the face - small, impertinent nose, full lips. The red fringe of the man’s hair, long and parted in the middle, is new, as are the multiple piercings in his ears and nose. But - and Seonghwa’s stomach is in his throat - there’s no doubt at all. 

“Hongjoong,” he says hoarsely. 

The man sitting at the booth looks just as shocked as Seonghwa. He blinks rapidly and then swallows, staring at Seonghwa with his mouth hanging slightly open. 

Then, all of a sudden, Hongjoong stands and bows quickly and deeply to Seonghwa. When he straightens up, Seonghwa remembers how significant the difference in their heights is when they’re facing each other like this. “Hello!” Hongjoong says brightly. After a second, slowly and almost carefully, he adds, “Seonghwa-hyung,” and flushes very slightly, for reasons Seonghwa cannot possibly guess at. 

They stare at each other. The weight of Hongjoong’s gaze on his skin is intoxicating, like a drug. _You look like an idiot,_ Seonghwa screams to himself. _Do something. Do anything but this! Stop looking at him like - like you -_

Like it’s been ten years and Seonghwa still thinks about the way he tastes. 

He’s saved from saying anything by the sound of a throat clearing. And wow, if that’s not even more embarrassing, because Hongjoong has someone with him. A woman. An attractive woman, with short hair and a stylish outfit, who’s looking at Hongjoong and Seonghwa with an expression that’s somewhere between confused and amused. 

“Ah,” Hongjoong says apologetically, eyes darting to the woman for a split second, and then back to Seonghwa.. “Hyung, this is my friend, Rose.” 

Seonghwa, thank fuck, remembers his manners and bows to Rose, whose face is decidedly amused at this point. 

“And this is,” Hongjoong hesitates with one hand gesturing to Seonghwa. “This is my -- um --” 

“We were trainees together,” Seonghwa cuts in. He immediately regrets how brusque his voice sounds. “It feels like so long ago.” He forces himself to look at Hongjoong, to act normal. “Doesn’t it?” 

Hongjoong holds his eyes and laughs nervously. “It’s been ten years.” 

“Ten years is a long time,” Rose agrees. Her voice is pleasant, light and musical. When Seonghwa looks back at her, he sees suddenly how well she matches Hongjoong - tiny, chic, cute. Seonghwa wonders with an unreasonably sour taste in his mouth if they’re dating. “It’s so nice to meet you,” Rose continues. 

Seonghwa is saved from answering her by a tap on his shoulder. It’s Chanyoung, thank fuck. “Boss,” Chanyoung says. “There’s a call for you - I think it’s the shipping company - they said something about a weather delay.” 

Seonghwa nods at him, hiding his relief. “I’ll handle it,” he tells Chanyoung, and then turns back to Hongjoong and Rose. “Please enjoy your meal,” he says, and bows again. After a split second of thought, he adds, “It’s on the house.” 

“That’s too kind,” Hongjoong protests. 

Seonghwa can’t look at him directly, just bows again and makes his escape. He must be imagining it, but he feels the pressure of Hongjoong’s eyes on his back as he walks away. 

The world feels different, somehow, now that he’s seen Hongjoong, like the blocks that make up everything have been torn down and rearranged. Back in his office, even the air feels charged, alive. Seonghwa shivers. He notices that his hands are trembling and curls them into tight fists, leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the window. 

The last thing he said to Kim Hongjoong ten years ago was “I’ll talk to you soon.” That was at the entrance to their dorms at KQ. Hongjoong was the last of the trainees to say goodbye to Seonghwa. The staff hadn’t let Hongjoong ride with him to the airport. Hongjoong had been crying - the only time Seonghwa had ever seen Hongjoong cry, fat teardrops building at the corners of his eyes and then dropping, all at once, drawing watery trails down his cheeks as he hugged Seonghwa tightly and cried and cried. 

It had been the second time in a matter of days that Seonghwa had felt his heart ripping in half. The first being when he heard his mom tell him, between sobs and the crackle of the phone’s bad service, that his dad was gone. Gone, and not coming back. The first time he had cried until he felt like he could never cry again. The second time, though, he just felt numb, even as his chest hurt so bad he could barely breathe, and he could smell Hongjoong's hair and feel the wetness of his tears on his shirt. 

He had lied to Hongjoong when he said he’d talk to him soon. Because the trainees didn’t have phones, and besides, Seonghwa told himself later on, when he realized he was never going back to be a trainee - and then told himself again and again over the years - what was the point of trying? It would only hold Hongjoong back if Seonghwa tried to stay a part of his life. Hongjoong was so crazily talented. He had his whole life as an idol ahead of him, and Seonghwa had no doubt he’d be one of the best. What would be the point of having a nobody like Park Seonghwa in his life? 

(Seonghwa had tried his hardest to forget what they did together, in the practice room late at night, in the dorm sometimes when everyone was out or asleep. They were only eighteen, so untouched, so fucking _horny._ Seonghwa tried so, so hard to forget the sounds Hongjoong made with Seonghwa’s hands buried in his hair, tongue in his mouth. Stolen toothpaste kisses in the bathroom before the rest of the trainees woke up, warmth all over as they cuddled together watching cat videos. 

They never did anything more than kiss (save for one delicious moment when Seonghwa pressed forward too much and felt the solid weight of Hongjoong’s erection against his own, groaned and stepped back, because that was - too much, too far) but it was _wonderful._ Hongjoong was - he was just - well, Seonghwa had really thought he was in love, back then. 

And then he got on an airplane and didn’t speak to Hongjoong for ten years. Didn’t think he’d ever speak to him again, had (mostly) accepted that, had trained himself not to linger over news stories about Ateez, or Hongjoong’s solo career, except to allow himself to feel the combined bittersweetness of pleasure at Hongjoong’s success and the faint pulse of what-if that rose up, every so often, as Seonghwa built a life far different from what he thought he might have at eighteen.) 

He breathes out shakily, eyes distantly tracking the movements of construction workers below his window. He really needs to snap the fuck out of it. He really needs to give the shipping guy a call back. He really needs to stop thinking about how different (good) Hongjoong looks at twenty-eight, all fucking grown up, even though he still has that child-like cuteness clinging to his eyes and cheeks and smile. God, Seonghwa forgot about his smile. The way it changed his whole face, made Seongwha’s breathe stutter in wonder. 

Seonghwa is royally _fucked._ Ten years of hard work forgetting him down the fucking drain after one chance meeting. 

He slaps himself on the cheek and downs a whole water bottle. Then he sits down at his desk and stares at his computer screen for a while. Eventually he throws himself into work, relying on years of working long hours to instinctually bat away errant thoughts. His mind focuses firmly on dealing with this pork blight in Japan that’s going to necessitate a menu change, and he makes a few notes, slowly getting deeply absorbed. 

He’s interrupted some time later - could be twenty minutes or two hours; he has no concept of time when he concentrates like this - by a knock on his office door. Probably Chanyoung again, he thinks with a sigh, getting up and stretching. When he pulls open the door, it’s Chanyoung as expected. 

__“Good,” Seonghwa starts before he can say anything. “I talked to the people from shipping and sorted everything out.” Chanyoung takes the pages of notes Seonghwa hands over and opens his mouth to speak, but Seonghwa cuts him off. “We’re going to need to print new menus without the pork belly for the next few days, but we should have a shipment in by next Wednesday, so - “_ _

__“Um, Seonghwa-ssi,” Chanyoung interrupts him hesitantly. Seonghwa looks up from his notes. Chanyoung meets his eyes and looks behind him to where Hongjoong is standing with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Seonghwa hadn’t really noticed before, but the white cotton shirt Hongjoong’s wearing is loose enough around his neck to show his collarbones, and Seonghwa’s throat is suddenly dry as bone._ _

__“He wanted to speak to you before he left,” Chanyoung whispers loudly to Seonghwa. “IIt seemed like you knew each other, so I thought it would be okay.”_ _

__Seonghwa swallows. “It’s fine,” he tells Chanyoung in what he hopes is an even, pleasant tone. To Hongjoong, he says, “Please come into my office.”_ _

__If the air of his office felt charged before, it’s nothing compared to how it feels when Seonghwa sits down behind his desk, only a few feet separating him from Hongjoong. Seonghwa lets his eyes linger on him while he examines Seonghwa’s office. He looks more tired than Seonghwa had noticed, slight gray bags under his eyes. His jawline is more defined than it was when they were teenagers; the elegance of his profile seen from the side is devastating. All this was there when Hongjoong was eighteen, but faintly, only a hint of what would come. Not like this, the way he combines cute and handsome into some kind of fairy-like beauty._ _

__Then Hongjoong looks back, and Seonghwa abruptly tries to pretend he hasn’t been staring at him for far longer than appropriate for old acquaintances (which is what they are, isn’t it? _All they are,_ Seonghwa reminds himself). _ _

__“It’s really nice in here,” Hongjoong offers, with a slight smile._ _

__“Thank you.” Seonghwa drums his hands on his desk. “How was your food?” he asks, secretly anticipating the answer. He may hate the minutiae of running a restaurant, but deep down he’s proud of how successful it’s become over the past ten years, ever since he started as a busboy all that time ago._ _

__“It was incredible,” Hongjoong assures him. “I didn’t expect you could make traditional dishes in such a modern way. It was very impressive.”_ _

__Seonghwa bows his head to accept the compliment and to hide his satisfied expression. “I’m glad.”_ _

__They sit in silence for some time until Hongjoong asks, “Is that your - assistant? The one who brought me here? Or...”_ _

__“Yes, that’s Chanyoung.” Seonghwa almost adds that he’s a good kid, if he does get ahead of himself sometimes, but stops himself from running his mouth before he can._ _

__Hongjoong nods, almost to himself. “Ah. That’s good.” After a moment, he asks, “Are you very busy?”_ _

__Seonghwa looks around at the papers strewn across his desk. “I suppose so. It’s been worse.”_ _

__Honejoong smiles at that, but his expression changes quickly into apologetic. “I don’t mean to take up your time,” he says quickly. “I just wanted to see if you wanted to, um, catch up?”_ _

__Seonghwa stares at him so long Hongjoong starts to fidget. “If you have time, I mean, it’s just been a long time, and I wanted to…” he trails off and looks down at his hands briefly. “Wanted to see if you had time to get a drink or something.”_ _

__Seonghwa doesn’t give his brain a chance to make its case for how _very bad_ of an idea it would be to see Hongjoong again before he says, “Sure.”_ _

__The look on Hongjoong’s face sets off Seonghwa’s heart again. He grins, all teeth, happiness evident in the crinkle of his eyes. Seonghwa feels the impact of his smile everywhere, and god is he fucked. He looks away and fumbles for his calendar. “When works for you?”_ _

__“Um, maybe tomorrow night?”_ _

__Seonghwa looks up. “Tomorrow?” he asks._ _

__The surprise must be evident in his voice because Hongjoong flushes again. “Oh,” he says, "I guess that's soon, isn't it? If you’re busy - “_ _

__“No,” Seonghwa cuts him off. “I’m not busy. We close at seven on Thursdays.”_ _

__Hongjoong smiles again, as big as before. “Great.” Seonghwa doesn’t smile with his teeth much anymore, but he can’t help but curve his lips up at the corners in response, if only for a split second._ _

__He clears his throat. “Let’s meet here then?”_ _

__He realizes then how weird they’re both being. So polite, so careful. Like the thing between them is delicate, could break if either of them says anything out of place. It’s funny because it’s so different from how they were as trainees. Seonghwa would tease Hongjoong all the time, complain to him, get annoyed, and Hongjoong would give as good as he got. This, in comparison, is like talking to an old grade school teacher you ran into at the mall._ _

__“Sounds great.” Hongjoong stands and Seonghwa stands with him. “I’ll see you tomorrow at seven, then.”_ _

Seonghwa nods and watches him walk to the door. He’s so close to being home free until Hongjoong pauses, halfway out the door, and looks back. “Seonghwa-hyung,” he says slowly, in that same strange, careful voice as before. “It’s good to see you again.” 

Then he walks out the door before Seonghwa can respond. For a whole minute, Seonghwa’s eyes stay stuck to where Hongjoong was standing just a moment ago. Then he falls heavily into his desk chair. He checks his watch. He has 28 hours to somehow get himself ready for seven o'clock tomorrow. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact i tried to write this chapter from HJ's pov but that was a dumpster fire so we're back w seonghwa pov. if it goes well i may try writing from joong's pov in a future chapter tho!
> 
> also im from 'murica and i've never been 2 korea (sadface) so i did some very light research for this but just enough to (hopefully) make it believable for someone who a) has never been to korea, and b) knows nothing about music composition. 
> 
> then again this is an alternate universe fanfic about a kpop boy group so how believable can i really make it :) 
> 
> enjoy!

“Do you know what you want?” Seonghwa looks up from the drinks menu. “I can order for us at the bar.”

Across the table, Hongjoong squints at the menu. “I’ll have the, uh, tequila sunrise.” 

Seonghwa takes care not to react to that, but internally he can’t tell whether he wants to cringe or snort. That’s such a _Hongjoong_ drink to order. Not to mention it’ll probably be the same color as Hongjoong’s hair. 

“Okay, be right back,” he says, instead of any of that. 

As he leans against an empty section of the bar, Seonghwa lets his breath out in a silent swoosh. His nerves have been out of control since Hongjoong showed up to the restaurant an hour ago, wearing a black baseball cap, dark jeans, collared shirt peeking out from his oversized sweater. He’d apologized to Seonghwa for wearing the hat inside, but explained that he didn’t want to attract attention.

Like he wouldn’t attract attention just by existing. It would be funny if it wasn’t so sad, honestly. 

When the bartender finishes, Seonghwa closes out the tab and carries his glass of Malbec and Hongjoong’s frankly disgusting looking tequila sunrise back to their tiny table. 

“Thanks, hyung.” Hongjoong takes a sip and makes a scrunched up face. The kind of face that makes it hard for Seonghwa to remember he’s the same age as him. He’s like an overgrown child, Seonghwa thinks suddenly. An overgrown child who never got to have a real childhood.

“Not good?” he asks. 

“No, it’s fine,” Hongjoong says quickly. “I just didn’t expect it to taste so — alcohol-y.” 

Seonghwa takes a second to process that. “You have drunk alcohol before, haven’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, definitely,” Hongjoong waves his hands emphatically. “I just usually drink the things that, uh, don’t taste like alcohol.” 

“Ah.” Seonghwa takes a sip of his wine. 

Hongjoong fidgets in the ensuing silence, one hand tracing the rim of his glass. “Thanks for agreeing to meet up,” he says finally. “It was really surprising to see you yesterday.”

 _Surprising is an understatement,_ Seonghwa thinks. “I was surprised as well,” he says. His tie feels tight around his neck all of a sudden, so he reaches up and tugs it loose with one hand. Hongjoong tracks the movement, eyes drawn to Seonghwa’s fingers. Then Hongjoong takes a hurried gulp of his drink and chokes, coughing roughly. 

“Are you alright?” Seonghwa asks, concerned. 

“Fine,” Hongjoong rasps, slightly red in the face. “Just went down the wrong pipe.” He dabs at his lips with a napkin. “So. What have you been up to for the last ten years?” 

Seonghwa considers the rim of his wine glass, runs his fingers up and down the stem. “You saw it all already,” he says. “I’ve been at the restaurant since I — left.”

“Oh, really?” Hongjoong’s mouth hangs open a little. “Did you start as a waiter?”

“Busboy, actually,” Seonghwa says. 

“Wow,” Hongjoong says. Seonghwa is so _weak_ , he's overwhelmed by the genuine interest in Hongjoong’s eyes, by how direct his gaze is. He can barely meet Hongjoong’s eyes. “Do you like it?” Hongjoong continues. “It must be a lot of work, to be that successful.”

Seonghwa waves his hand. “It comes and goes,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. (The truth is, it actually is a metric ton of work, so much that he’s sometimes afraid he’ll go prematurely bald from the stress.) “What about you?” he asks, looking to turn the subject away from himself as quickly as possible. “How’s life as a celebrity?”

Hongjoong ducks his head. “I’m really not _that_ famous,” he says. “I don’t know how much you’ve followed me — “ he stops and looks abruptly mortified. “Not that you probably followed me at all! I just mean, you know — “

“I listened to your solo album,” Seonghwa cuts in without even really thinking about it. He barely has time to regret it, because Hongjoong’s eyes light up. He leans forward eagerly. 

“Really? What did you think?”

“I liked the title track,” Seonghwa says. “Interesting beat, and the hook was great.” Hongjoong practically _glows_ at the words. Seonghwa marvels for a moment at how easy to please he is. Then he continues, “The b-side with Zion.t’s feature was my favorite.”

“Remember Me,” Hongjoong supplies the name quietly, and Seonghwa doesn't know why, but the pleasure Hongjoong was radiating just a moment ago is muted now. 

Seonghwa remembers listening to the album when it came out, nearly a year ago. He listened to it on his way to work and really didn’t get a single thing done that day, because hearing Hongjoong’s voice in Ateez’s songs didn’t slice into him anywhere near as much as having Hongjoong’s voice, _just_ Hongjoong’s voice, in his ear for six whole tracks. Twenty minutes that felt like Hongjoong was speaking directly to him. The album _oozed_ Hongjoong; it had his heart and soul all over every single second. Seonghwa had listened to it on repeat for two days, and then snapped out of it and never listened to it since. 

“Yes,” Seonghwa says. “Remember Me. That was it.”

“That’s,” Hongjoong blinks rapidly. “That’s really kind of you to say, hyung.” He grips his drink and takes another big swallow. When he comes up for air, his eyes dart to Seonghwa’s almost nervously. “So are you, um, married?” he asks.

At that, Seonghwa can’t hold in a snort. Married? His longest relationship of any kind is with his assistant. Someone who is paid to spend time with him. “Definitely not,” he says. “I am the farthest thing from married.” 

“Oh.” Hongjoong nods, fingers drumming a soundless beat on the wood of the table. “It must be hard to date when you have so many responsibilities,” he offers. 

Seonghwa huffs out an amused breath. “That’s what my ex and I found out.” 

“Oh,” Hongjoong says again, eyes wide. “Was she — did she also work in the restaurant business?”

And there it is. Seonghwa considers his choices for a moment and then decides, fuck it. He’s swapped _saliva_ with this man, for God’s sake. “No, he was in marketing,” he says casually, adding no extra emphasis to the pronoun. 

Hongjoong’s mouth falls open. He looks a bit dumb, if Seonghwa’s being honest, eyelids flickering like butterfly wings as he clearly tries to settle on a normal reaction. Seonghwa usually finds it amusing to drop his sexuality onto people like this, especially people he doesn’t like, and watch them turn apoplectic in response. 

In this case, though, he feels almost guilty at how uncomfortable he seems to have made Hongjoong. Then his guilt turns to frustration, because really? _I’ve had my fucking tongue in your mouth_ , Seonghwa feels like shouting. _Don’t act so surprised._ Or maybe Hongjoong’s just surprised that someone put up with Seonghwa long enough to be in an actual relationship, because that actually is quite shocking. 

“How long were you together?” Hongjoong asks finally. Seonghwa can tell he's made an effort to keep his tone casual, even light.

“A year and a half,” Seonghwa answers. A year and a half that he’d very much like to forget. “But what about you?” he asks. “Was that your girlfriend, the woman from yesterday?” He pretends not to remember her name.

“Oh, Rose? No, she’s not my girlfriend,” Hongjoong says quickly. “I haven’t, actually, um. Ever,” he trails off, cheeks stained red. 

Seonghwa is confused. “You haven’t what?” 

“Haven’t,” Hongjoong gestures vaguely with his hands. “You know. Dated. Or anything.”

Oh, that makes a bit more sense. But Seonghwa still wants to poke at the subject, like it's an itch he can’t get rid of. “But you must have done some things under the radar. It’s not impossible.” 

Hongjoong smiles awkwardly but doesn’t say anything, so Seonghwa pushes ahead. 

“I mean, even with the other members?” 

At that, Hongjoong’s eyes widen. “Ateez members?” he says, like the thought has never occurred to him. “Oh, no. They’re like, my family. My children.” He makes another scrunched up face. “I wouldn’t have — no. Definitely not.” 

Seonghwa is having trouble wrapping his mind around this. He’s not sure why it’s taking up so much space in his brain, the idea that Hongjoong’s been single — well, basically his entire life. That’s what he’s saying, Seonghwa is pretty sure. But still. That would mean —

“You’ve been single for all this time?” he can’t help but say. _Since we were — doing whatever it is we were doing_ , his mind supplies, and it hangs unspoken in the air. 

Hongjoong’s face is almost as cherry-red as his hair at this point. “Um, yes,” he says. “I haven’t done anything, since — I mean." He bites his lip. Seonghwa’s eyes follow the movement, unbidden, and he rips them away like he’s been scorched. Hongjoong takes a deep breath and continues, voice almost a whisper, “You’re the only one — the only one who’s ever — ”

He blinks at Seonghwa. 

_You’re the only one who’s ever…_

Jesus Christ. Seonghwa feels lightheaded all of a sudden, unable to meet Hongjoong’s eyes. He stands abruptly. 

“Hyung,” Hongjoong says, worried, making to stand as well. “Are you okay?” 

Seonghwa waves his hands to diffuse his concern. “I’m just — bathroom,” he manages to say, before striding quickly over to the large “restrooms” sign towards the back of the bar. 

Once he’s locked the door of the bathroom, he turns to the sink and splashes water on his face. The coolness of the water brings him back to himself, a bit at least, and he tries to bring his breathing under control. 

In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slowly, one, two, one two. No reason to lose his shit over this. It’s not significant, he tells himself. It’s not a big deal, that Hongjoong — that Hongjoong hasn’t been touched in ten years. That, apparently, the last hands on him were Seonghwa’s hands.

 _Fuck_. 

He loses the practiced rhythm of his breath and slumps against the wall, eyes fixed unseeing on the ugly floral design of the bathroom wallpaper. Hongjoong’s been _alone_ for ten fucking _years_. 

Seonghwa’s hit with a wave of sadness, suddenly. It’s a particularly savage form of cruelty that Hongjoong — the brightest, most earnest person Seonghwa’s ever met — has had to go ten years without being held like he’s precious, fragile. People like Hongjoong deserve things like forehead kisses, and cuddling, and fingers interlocked tightly, and all the little tokens of physical affection that Seonghwa’s stunted brain can imagine. 

It’s such a _waste_ , a pointless waste, for someone like Hongjoong to be kept from those things. It makes him almost angry. But, he reminds himself, there’s no use losing his shit over it now. Especially now. 

After a few more minutes, he straightens up, reasonably confident that he’ll be able to face Hongjoong without making a scene again.

When he gets back to the table, Hongjoong’s staring into space, shoulders tight and caved in slightly. He’s frowning when Seonghwa takes his seat again. 

“Hyung,” he starts, but Seonghwa practiced what he wanted to say in the bathroom and cuts him off. 

“I’m sorry about that,” he says, as smoothly as he can manage. “Must have drunk the wine too quickly.”

“Hyung,” Hongjoong says again, expression still concerned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable — ”

“You didn’t,” Seonghwa assures him with as much sincerity as he can muster. He takes a studied look at his watch. “Well, it’s getting — ”

“Do you want to take a walk?” Hongjoong interrupts him. He’s looking at Seonghwa with an oddly determined expression, and Seonghwa feels caught in his gaze. 

“Sure,” Seonghwa says helplessly. 

Hongjoong grins then, and stands up. “I’ll just pay for the drinks, and we can head out,” he says. 

“I already paid, actually.” Seonghwa cringes internally as he says it. Is that weird? Should he have done that? Was it presumptuous, insulting, somehow? It's been so long that he's had to worry about this kind of stuff. 

“Oh,” Hongjoong blinks at him, and then rubs the back of his neck, almost shyly. “Thanks, hyung. The next time’s on me, then.” 

_The next time._ Seonghwa feels his breath speed up and forces himself to calm down. Means nothing, he thinks firmly. 

The air outside has gotten cooler since the sun set. Seonghwa draws in a deep, steadying breath. It’s not too late for him to bail now — he could say he has to get up early for work the next morning, that he’s tired, that he needs to water his plants or call his mother. 

“Let’s walk to Nanji park?” Hongjoong cuts into his internal monologue. 

Seonghwa nods. 

They stroll along in silence for a few minutes. Despite the quiet, Seonghwa feels more relaxed out in the open air than he had in the dark, somewhat cramped bar. He doesn’t feel the pressure to meet Hongjoong’s eyes while they walk, either, which makes it immeasurably easier to be with him. 

When they stop at an intersection, Seonghwa risks a glance at Hongjoong and notices, with a pang of concern, that he’s shivering. 

“Do you want my jacket?” Seonghwa asks. 

Hongjoong starts. “Ah, no, I’m fine, thank you.” 

“Are you sure?” 

A breeze floats by, and Hongjoong can’t stop another shiver from wracking his body. “I couldn’t take it from you,” he says tentatively. 

“I’m not cold.” Seonghwa shrugs off his suit jacket — the suit he’d worn that day is (coincidentally) one of his favorites, a charcoal gray he’s been told complements his build and coloring. For a wild second, he imagines placing it gently onto Hongjoong’s shoulders himself. But he shakes himself and holds it out for Hongjoong to take instead. 

_Cute_ is the only word Seonghwa can think of to describe how Hongjoong looks in his jacket, his narrow shoulders and frame made to look even smaller under its weight. Seonghwa is struck with an odd, bone-deep satisfaction at the sight of Hongjoong wearing his clothes. 

_What are you, a fucking caveman?_ Seonghwa feels like slapping himself. _Why don’t you pee on him too, if this is what does it for you?_

The walk sign flashes, thank God, and they continue on their way. It’s a short walk to the park that sits along the river. There are a few couples and families who’ve had the same idea as Hongjoong, chatting as they stroll along the path. 

It’s really a lovely night. It’s been forever since Seonghwa has taken the time to appreciate an evening like this. Usually, at this time, he’s either at the office tearing his hair out over the latest earnings report, or on his couch half-watching the news and eating takeout. 

They walk along the path for a while, until Hongjoong suddenly pauses and walks over to the river, hanging onto the railing and staring up at the sky. Seonghwa joins him. He observes the ripples of the water, the way the moonlight plays on the dark waves. 

The river is so wide he can barely make out the southern bank across from them. There’s too much pollution to see any stars, but he tips his head back and takes in the expanse of the night sky. 

“What are you thinking about?” Hongjoong’s quiet voice comes from beside him. 

Seonghwa brings his head back down and drums on the railing. “I’m actually not thinking at all,” he says honestly. “It’s incredible.” He turns to look at Hongjoong and finds him already gazing at Seonghwa. He forces himself to maintain eye contact. “What are you thinking about?”

Hongjoong turns back to the river. “Just freaking out about how far behind I am on my next album.” He throws his head back and groans. “Really, really far behind.”

“Have you started composing anything?” Seonghwa asks.

Hongjoong turns back to him and grins. “Actually, I started writing one of the tracks.” His expression turns self-conscious. "Would you want to listen to it?” 

The question makes something in Seonghwa _burn_ , bright and warm. “Sure,” he says again. 

Hongjoong digs around in his jeans pocket and pulls out his phone and a pair of headphones. He hands the earpods to Seonghwa. “Be harsh,” he says, half seriously. Seonghwa nods.

The song Hongjoong has composed is something entirely new. Seonghwa hears hip hop, but also the two-beat rhythm that characterizes Korean trot music. As he listens, Seonghwa notices that Hongjoong has layered in samples from Namjin’s classic 70s hit _With My Love_. It was one of Seonghwa’s father’s favorite songs, and it’s strikingly perfect, the combination of Hongjoong’s energetic, distinctive rap and the familiar melody of the older song. 

He’s smiling wider than he has in fucking _years_ when the song finishes. When he turns to Hongjoong, he’s staring at Seonghwa with his mouth open, eyes bright with something that looks akin to wonder. Taken aback, Seonghwa has to swallow the words of praise that had been poised on the tip of his tongue. “What?” 

“Nothing,” Hongjoong says finally, closing his eyes tightly for a second and turning back to the river. He coughs. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, strangely uncertain. “What did you think?” 

“It was amazing,” Seonghwa says sincerely. “Did you know,” he kicks himself mentally because, no, of course Hongjoong doesn’t know, “that was my dad’s favorite song. We used to listen to it all the time. Before.”

 _Please don’t fucking cry,_ he begs himself. He blinks rapidly, gripping the railing. Hongjoong’s gaze feels soft on his face, like a warm blanket.

“I’m glad I used it, then,” Hongjoong says gently. 

Seonghwa sucks in a deep breath and summons the strength to smile again, just slightly. “Me too,” he says. 

There’s something there, when they look at each other. Silently, just like they used to, no words needed to convey what they’re feeling. Seonghwa lets himself relax into it. He doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or cry at the fact that this moment is the closest he’s felt to another person in years. He feels a sudden urge to do something incredibly stupid, like take one of Hongjoong’s hands in his own. 

“We should get going,” Hongjoong says, before Seonghwa can do anything that idiotic. “I think the park closes soon.” 

Seonghwa nods.

They make their way out of the park and into the sprawl of the city. Hongjoong starts to take off his jacket, and Seonghwa moves to stop him. “Keep it,” he says forcefully, and then winces at how aggressive he sounds. 

“Okay,” Hongjoong agrees. He looks up at Seonghwa with the corner of his lips turned up. “At least it’ll be motivation for you to see me again.” 

"Yes," Seonghwa says nonsensically. 

“Well.” Hongjoong’s expression is playful, like he used to look when he’d tease Seonghwa mercilessly during their time as trainees. He bows to Seonghwa. “I’ll see you soon, hyung.”

Seonghwa bows as well, and watches as Hongjoong turns and starts to walk away. And then — “Hongjoong-ah,” he calls out, without thinking. 

Hongjoong stops and turns around. 

“You know you can,” Seonghwa starts and stops. This is a terrible idea, why is he doing this. “You can stop by the restaurant if you ever need a break from the studio,” he finishes lamely. 

Hongjoong breaks into a smile, and Seonghwa feels light, so light, like a hot air balloon. “And if I need a third ear?” he asks, smiling.

“And if you need a third ear,” Seonghwa confirms. 

“Sounds like a plan, hyung,” Hongjoong says. He gives Seonghwa one final wave before turning around and heading off. 

Seonghwa watches his back for a while, then breathes out in a loud whoosh. His heart beats loudly in his ears, but he suddenly can't stop smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 y'all! thx so much 4 the comments n kudos hehe(tmon)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello yes it's me continuing to underestimate the # of chapters in this fic
> 
> <33333 for the comments and kudos!! i'm so happy to see so much good content, old and new, in the ateez tag! it's really giving me life + insp :) 
> 
> i swear there's gonna be smut in this fic....just....things are taking longer than i thought cri

“Here you go,” Chanyoung says triumphantly, dropping a fat stack of papers onto Seonghwa’s desk. “Every page of the health certificate. Notarized and everything,” he adds. 

Seonghwa, distracted by calculations for their upcoming quarter, barely looks up from his desk. “Thank you.”

Chanyoung drops into the chair facing Seonghwa’s desk, and Seonghwa suppresses a twitch of annoyance at the noise. His assistant does this sometimes, just _hangs out_ in Seonghwa’s office when he’s bored or has no one else to terrorize. Seonghwa ignores him, even as he grabs a pen off of Seonghwa’s desk and starts doodling on the back of his palm. _Heathen._

“Your k-pop boy is here again,” Chanyoung announces after a while.

At that, Seonghwa raises his head. “My _what_?”

Chanyoung grins at his expression. “Hwanjoong,” he says. “He’s in the corner booth. He ordered a strawberry milkshake,” Chanyoung informs him, as if this information is of great significance. 

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa corrects him automatically, then hits himself for being pulled into conversation. He looks back down at his calculator and resumes punching out series of numbers. “Don’t you have things to do?” 

“You're right," Chanyoung says. "I’ll go talk to _Hongjoong_!” 

Seonghwa sets down his pencil very calmly. “Chanyoung-ah,” he says. “What did I tell you?”

Chanyoung pouts and slumps back in the chair. “Seonghwa-ssi," he whines. "How am I supposed to ignore him when he’s been here literally every day for the past month?” He picks up Seonghwa’s pen again and twirls it between his fingers. “Anyway, how do you know him? He’s pretty famous.”

“That’s really none of your business,” Seonghwa says through gritted teeth. 

Chanyoung smiles. “Okay,” he says brightly. “I’ll just go ask Hongjoong then.”

They stare each other down for a long moment -- Chanyoung with his wide, fake smile, Seonghwa with narrowed eyes and a frown. 

“We went to high school together,” Seonghwa says finally. “That’s all.” 

Not entirely a lie, because they were high school aged when they were trainees. He’s kept his short lived traineeship a secret from pretty much everyone outside of his immediate family, and he isn’t interested in a late-stage reveal at this point. He fixes his eyes on Chanyoung. “Now can I get back to my work so this place can stay open another godforsaken day?” 

“Fine,” Chanyoung sighs and gets up again. “He asked if you were here, just so you know,” he adds as a parting shot, and Seonghwa’s left staring at where he was standing a second ago. 

He’s distracted now, of fucking course. He can’t make his brain concentrate on the numbers, and after a while he just gives up, leaning back in his chair and looking out the window. 

It’s true that Hongjoong’s been coming to the restaurant nearly every day since that night, he muses. It shouldn’t be a surprise to Seonghwa; he’s been here most of the times Hongjoong has visited. Seonghwa’s handled it quite well. It was only the first time he spotted Hongjoong’s blood-red hair across the restaurant that he tripped over his own feet on his way to the kitchen.

Now, after a few weeks, he’s mostly gotten used to it, the way Hongjoong shows up at the slow times each day, always alone and always with his laptop, tucking himself into a corner to work on his music. Sometimes Seonghwa doesn’t have time for more than a quick hello. But a few times, hello has turned into sharing a late lunch and listening to Hongjoong’s latest progress on his album. Two days ago they had a lively discussion about the best budae jjigae in Seoul (which was mostly just Seonghwa going on a long rant about culinary imperialism while Hongjoong did a poor job of hiding his laughter behind his hands). 

Anyway, it’s -- odd, but strangely right, the way Hongjoong’s inserted himself into Seonghwa’s daily routine. It gives Seonghwa something to look forward to, at least, other than paperwork and crisis management. 

Giving up on the accounting for good, Seonghwa sighs and gets up, stretching his stiff back and neck. It’s almost 4 p.m., around the time he usually checks on the waitstaff to see if they need anything before the dinner rush begins. He’ll say hello to Hongjoong while he’s at it, he decides. 

There are only a few groups of people in the restaurant when he enters. Hongjoong, as usual, sits in the corner booth with his huge headphones covering half his head, gaze intent on his laptop. 

He’s so concentrated that he jumps visibly when Seonghwa takes a seat opposite him. 

“Hyung!” he says, smiling. He slips his headphones off. 

“I can leave if you’re busy,” Seonghwa says. 

“No no no,” Hongjoong waves his hands. “I mean, yes, I’m busy, but you shouldn’t -- um, leave.” 

Seonghwa hums in acknowledgement, eyes sliding to the empty glass on the table. “Do you want another of those?” 

“I really shouldn’t.” 

Seonghwa raises his eyebrows. 

Hongjoong grins and ducks his head. “Unless you’d like to share it with me?” he asks.

Seonghwa is struck with a sudden image of Hongjoong taking the thick straw between his lips, looking up at Seonghwa through the fringe of his eyelashes as he sucks it into his mouth. Seonghwa feels a spark of heat in his stomach. And no, erase that, all of it, because apparently he’s fucking pervert who sexualizes his friends. 

His friend. Who is a virgin and somehow still _cute_ at twenty-eight. Unfortunately, as he’s come to learn over the past month, the fact that Hongjoong looks like an actual fairy drives Seonghwa slightly insane with thoughts like this. It’s kind of sick, really, how he can look at someone that lovely and innocent and want to mess him up a little. Or a lot. Touch him until he turns red, gasping -- 

And that’s enough of that, Jesus Christ. He pinches his leg, hard, where Hongjoong can’t see, and flags the waiter. “Another strawberry milkshake,” he says, making sure his voice is casual, even. “With two straws, please.” 

When the waiter leaves, Hongjoong’s expression is strange. Amused, but with something underneath that Seonghwa can’t place. 

“Did you want something else?”

“How did you know what I ordered?” Hongjoong asks. It looks like he’s trying not to smile, Seonghwa thinks, and if he had gotten the blushing gene, Seonghwa would be fuschia right now.

“Oh. I,” Seonghwa’s mind goes blank. “I must have spotted it earlier,” he finishes weakly. 

Hongjoong grins but takes pity on him and drops the subject. He shifts his laptop so Seonghwa can see the screen. “Look, I think I’ve finished a whole track,” he says, pleased, scrolling through what appears to be a lot of heart monitor lines on top of one another. Hongjoong looks at him. “Want to listen?”

“Sure,” Seonghwa answers. He expects Hongjoong to hand him his headphones, then -- that’s how they usually do it -- but instead Hongjoong hesitates. 

“Would you mind -- actually, if we listened to it together?” Hongjoong sticks his hand in his bag and pulls out a pair of earphones. He holds each pod in one hand, expression tentative. “You always make these faces when you’re listening, and I kind of wanted to know what parts you like, and -- yeah.” 

“That’s fine,” Seonghwa says after a beat. He feels warm. It’s been happening more often lately, whenever Hongjoong asks for his opinion or laughs with his scrunched up eye smile at Seonghwa’s sarcastic comments. 

Then he realizes that to make this work, they’re going to have to sit on the same side of the booth, and, okay. He really, really cannot get hard with Hongjoong sitting right next to him. “I’ll just come over there, then,” he says, casually. 

Of course, it’s only when he’s seated next to Hongjoong, inches separating their thighs (not that he’s looking) that the waiter comes back with the milkshake. 

Seonghwa likes to think he cultivates an image of authority and mystery among the lower staff due to his tendency to forget to smile, or only smile in way that Chanyoung describes as vampiric, and how he only ventures out of his office to verbally castrate whatever person decided to be incompetent that day. 

Their whole setup is not exactly in line with how he likes to appear to the underlings. It looks extremely -- date-like, he realizes. Sitting next to one another; sharing the fucking _milkshake_. The waiter, who can’t be older than 19, seems as supremely uncomfortable as Seonghwa, hesitating in front of the table with the milkshake and two straws in hand. 

“Just put it here,” Seonghwa hisses finally. 

“Yes, bujangnim,” the waiter says quickly. He places the drink on the table, then backs away and bows. 

“Thank you,” Seonghwa forces himself to say, and the waiter flees. 

Hongjoong removes the paper from the straws and sticks them in the milkshake. Fuck, but Seonghwa forgot about his _hands_. The straws are about the same size as his fingers, for fuck’s sake, and he blinks as Hongjoong pinches one of the straws between his pointer finger and thumb and brings it to his mouth, taking such a long draw of the drink that his cheeks fucking _hollow_. 

They must have made it really thick, Seonghwa thinks dizzily. He can’t keep his eyes off the rounded softness of Hongjoong’s lips, the place where the straw disappears into his mouth. 

After a second, Hongjoong finishes and turns to him, and Seonghwa rips his eyes away from his mouth just in time. “It’s actually better this time,” Hongjoong says, smiling and holding out the glass. 

Seonghwa waves a hand jerkily. “I’m alright for now.”

 _Calm the fuck down,_ he tells himself. _Breathe._

He takes one earpod from Hongjoong and settles it into his ear. Hongjoong does the same. “Oh-kay,” Hongjoong says beside him, and presses play. 

It’s not the same track as the one that samples his dad’s song. This one starts out with a slow, almost r&b-esque intro, with Hongjoong’s voice more song-like than Seonghwa has ever heard it. He has a beautiful singing voice. It’s slow and sweet, like honey, building into a soft but catchy pre-chorus. The lyrics are something new, too -- for his first album, Hongjoong had written about his fans, identity, family. This is about _love_ , Seonghwa realizes with a drop in his stomach. 

_Sometimes it feels like I’m invisible to everyone but you,_ Hongjoong croons in his ear, the chorus. _Hold me like I’m real, bite me so I know I have skin to taste._

Seonghwa feels Hongjoong’s gaze on his face as he listens, and he feels exposed, vulnerable. He swallows and closes his eyes. 

“Yah!” 

The music pauses and Seonghwa opens his eyes just in time for Hongjoong to shake his forearm. “That’s cheating,” Hongjoong tells him indignantly. He’s blushing, for some reason, even through his bravado. “You have to keep your eyes open.”

“Fine,” Seonghwa says. He can do it. It’s just, it’s harder when they’re hearing the music at the same time. He feels too open with his eyes bare, like his thoughts are out there for anyone to see. But he can do it. _It’s only a song,_ he tells himself. “I’ll keep them open.” 

After a second he looks down at where Hongjoong’s hand rests, as if its been forgotten, on his forearm. Hongjoong follows his eyes and snatches his hand back like he’s been scalded. “Okay, good,” he says. 

Seonghwa manages to keep it together throughout the rest of the song, but it’s one of the hardest things he’s ever done. Hongjoong sounds so different here. His usual quick, animated rap melts into something gentler, almost wistful. _Someone deserves you, but not me._. Seonghwa wishes he could close his eyes. _I wouldn’t know how to love you unless you showed me._

It hurts, somewhere deep in his chest, to think that there’s someone in Hongjoong’s life who inspired him to write these words. So maybe it’s not one of the Ateez members, but a producer, a manager, a makeup artist or hair stylist. It could be _anyone_. Seonghwa wishes he knew, but at the same time the thought of knowing repulses him, makes him almost sick. 

As the song winds down, he decides, firmly, that he’s happy for Hongjoong. Hopefully whoever the song is written for will hear it soon, and Hongjoong can have the fairytale ending he’s been deprived of for so long. It would make Seonghwa _very_ happy to see Hongjoong fulfilled that way. His mind is just stuck in the past, caught up in how it was when they were eighteen. That, and his underfed libido, are distracting him with these damn fantasies about picking up where they left off so long ago. 

When the last notes fade into silence, Seonghwa schools his expression into something normal and slips the earpod out of his ear. 

“So, uh, what did you think?” Hongjoong plays with his earpod, rolling it around in his fingers. 

Seonghwa takes a deep breath. “I think that should be the title track,” he says, forcing himself to make eye contact as he says it. 

Hongjoong’s eyes widen. “Oh. Really?”

“You don’t think so?”

“No, I, um.” Hongjoong laughs, somewhat self-consciously, and runs a hand through his hair. “That means you liked it, right?”

 _Liked is one word for it._ “Absolutely,” Seonghwa replies. “I didn’t know you could sing like that,” he admits. And why the fuck would he say something like that, like he was under the impression Hongjoong’s a complete failure at everything except rap. Of course Hongjoong can sing. There’s nothing musical Hongjoong can’t do, Seonghwa is pretty sure. 

Hongjoong just smiles and ducks his head. “I’m not sure if the agency will like it as the title.” 

“Their mistake, then.”

They sit in silence for a moment, both staring at the laptop. Then Hongjoong asks, uncertain, “The lyrics weren’t too much, were they?” 

What should he say to that? “They were -- “ Seonghwa searches for the right word. “Unexpected,” he chooses. 

It’s the truth, at least. He goes on, because Hongjoong deserves more than that, “But good. More realistic than a usual love song. You could tell that you wrote it about an actual person.” _Whoever it may be._

“Yeah,” Hongjoong says slowly. He’s blushing. Seognhwa’s noticed over the past few weeks that he has the tendency to turn red whenever he lets Seonghwa listen to his work. It’s kind of odd that he’s so shy, given that his whole life revolves around putting himself out there, on the stage or in the studio, but Seonghwa’s not complaining. It makes him almost believe that Hongjoong cares about what Seonghwa thinks, specifically, that he’s special in some way, to get that reaction. 

And it’s fucking cute, of course, not that Seonghwa would ever admit that while alive. 

“Well, thanks, hyung,” Hongjoong says, one hand playing with the piercings in his ear. He closes the laptop. “I hope I didn’t take up too much of your time.”

Seonghwa looks at his watch. It’s nearly 5, and fuck, he has a million things to do. “My pleasure,” he tells Hongjoong. “But I should go.” 

As Seonghwa stands, though, Hongjoong touches his arm suddenly. “Ah, hyung, actually, I was wondering if you were free this Saturday.” Before Seonghwa can answer, he continues, “Loco is having an album release party, and I was wondering if you’d like to come.” He looks away, dips his gaze down and then back up again. “I just know how much you like his music, and thought you’d like to, you know. But it’s okay if you can’t.”

Seonghwa’s neck tingles, warm, the sensation not unlike ASMR. He very much can -- he can get Chanyoung to cover closing hours -- but he’s far from sure it’s a good idea. So far, he and Hongjoong have only been together one-on-one. He’s afraid introducing other people into the mix will spoil the odd, delicate friendship they’ve built over the past month. And, stupidly, he wants to keep Hongjoong to himself, keep Hongjoong’s crinkled smiles and earnest questions directed at Seonghwa, and only Seonghwa. 

“It wouldn’t be an inconvenience?” he asks, because that’s the polite thing to do. 

“No, definitely not,” Hongjoong assures him. “Everyone gets a plus one.”

Seonghwa honestly can’t remember the last time he was someone’s plus one. Probably during his last relationship, but he’s blocked out those memories so well, he can’t think of a specific time. Anyway. He summons all of his mental strength. “That would be great, then. Thanks.”

“Cool,” Hongjoong beams at him. “Uh, I’ll text you the address? I have to get there early to set up,” he tells Seonghwa apologetically. “If you don’t mind meeting me there.”

“No problem.” 

“Cool, cool,” Hongjoong says again. He looks around at the slowly-filling restaurant and pulls out his baseball cap, using it to cover his bright hair. “I guess I should get going, too.” 

Once he’s packed up his stuff, Seonghwa stands aside to let him out of the booth. 

“Well, okay, I’ll see you Saturday then!” Hongjoong says. He has to tip his head back, just a bit, to meet Seonghwa’s eyes. “Thanks again, for listening,” he adds. 

“Of course,” Seonghwa replies. With a last wave, Hongjoong turns and makes his way out of the restaurant. With his backpack and hat, Hongjoong could pass for an overworked college student. Every time he sees him, Seonghwa finds it harder and harder to believe that Hongjoong is the same age as him. It’s not just the shyness, it’s how his entire being -- mannerisms, speech, everything -- drips with sincerity. He’s genuinely _himself_ in a way that Seonghwa isn’t used to. 

“That looked _fun_ ,” Chanyoung’s voice interrupts Seonghwa’s internal monologue. 

Seonghwa wipes off whatever expression he had and replaces it with a scowl, turning to Chanyoung. “Say nothing.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Chanyoung protests, hands held up in mock innocence. “Geez, observation is illegal now?”

“It is when it’s coming from you, about me,” Seonghwa retorts, turning to head back to his office.

“Don’t fall asleep at your desk again!” Chanyoung calls after him, and Seonghwa ignores him.

He’s got actual plans this weekend. An unexpected turn of events, but not unwelcome. He’s used to these kinds of parties, has gone to many over the years for other restaurant openings. The whole setup -- schmoozing, small talk, etc -- is likely the same for music releases. And Seonghwa can be fucking _great_ at parties when he wants to be. It’s going to be fine, he tells himself. Absolutely fine. 

He falls asleep at his desk with Hongjoong’s song playing softly in his head.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chap puts the angst in angst with a happy ending!!!! 
> 
> so uhhhhhhhhh don't h8 me pls 
> 
> we love cathartic fights in this household 
> 
> all will be done good in the endt

True to his word, Hongjoong texts him the address that night. It’s out in Cheongdam, not one of Seonghwa’s favorite parts of the city, but to be expected for the occasion. 

_Hope you can still come! :))))_ Hongjoong adds after the address. 

Seonghwa’s thumbs pause over his keyboard. _Yes, thank you; I’ll see you there,_ he types out, then deletes it instantly. He’s been told -- by Chanyoung, of course, because he doesn’t text with anyone else -- that he texts like a grandpa. He’s not sure how correct use of punctuation could signal advanced age, but apparently seeing a period at the end of a text sends his generation into death throes. 

He decides on a simple, _Yes, thanks_ , with no punctuation, just to be safe. 

_Great!!!_ Hongjoong replies immediately. 

Seonghwa looks at the text for longer than he should, then plugs in his phone to charge and gets back to work. 

__

After nearly an hour in front of the mirror, he settles on a plain black shirt and navy blazer with matching slacks. Not a full suit, but perhaps still too corporate for an artistic crowd. His hair is too long, he thinks for the umpteenth time, but he decides to wear it pushed back as usual. Once he's satisfied with his appearance, he calls an uber. 

The ride is quick. It ends before Seonghwa is mentally prepared, and the driver pulls up to what Seonghwa assumes is a bar. It’s unimposing on the outside, windows too dark to see inside.

He thanks the driver and gets out, moving just a bit slower than normal. Trying to delay the inevitable for a little longer. _You agreed to come here,_ he reminds himself. 

“Good evening, sir.” The woman at the door smiles at him, revealing even, white teeth. Before Seonghwa can say his name, she cuts him off. “Park Seonghwa-ssi?”

Seonghwa blinks, taken aback and a little creeped out. He’s a plus one, and not even in the music industry, but they still know who he is? 

“Yes,” he manages to reply.

The woman’s smile widens. “Please enjoy,” she says, and turns to give a nod to the two bouncers guarding the door behind her. One of them pulls the door open for Seonghwa to enter, his face devoid of any expression. _This security system is terrible,_ Seonghwa thinks. _Not to mention bizarre._

He bows to the woman and walks through the door, feeling slightly off balance from the interaction. 

Inside, as he expected, a whole ecosystem of celebration is playing out. It looks like Loco’s people have reserved the whole bar for the party. Clumps of people -- looks like close to one hundred, Seonghwa’s former host instincts supply -- dot the entirety of the space, some on the couches that line the walls, others leaning against the large mahogany bar. He is a little overdressed -- most people are wearing the kind of designer streetwear that looks simple but actually costs upwards of the price of Seonghwa’s bespoke suits. 

A DJ in the back is playing Loco’s Tangled Up, one of Seonghwa’s favorites. He relaxes into the familiar sounds for a moment, taking a deep breath. And then -- 

“Seonghwa-hyung!” Hongjoong appears in front of him, already smiling. “You made it!”

“I did,” he confirms, allowing himself to return the smile. Then his gaze slants down. The neckline of Hongjoong’s shirt, loose, grey-blue silk, dips down in a deep V, criss-crossed by thin laces. The skin of his chest is so pale, like the inside of an apple. And he’s wearing a chain around his neck, almost tight enough to be a choker. Seonghwa suddenly finds it difficult to swallow. 

“Hongjoong-ah,” the voice comes from behind Hongjoong, from a tall, unfamiliar man who smiles at Seonghwa. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

The way he says _friend_ annoys Seonghwa, for some reason. Before Hongjoong can speak, he bows deeply. “Park Seonghwa.”

The man returns his bow. “Eden,” he says. “I’m glad you’re here. Hongjoong’s been glued to his phone until now.”

“Not true,” Hongjoong protests, throwing a look at Eden that Seonghwa can't see. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have any problems on the way,” he says to Seonghwa, cheeks dusted pink. 

“Well, we’re all here now,” Eden concedes, clapping Hongjoong on the shoulder. The movement drags Hongjoong’s shirt to the side, revealing even more of his shoulder, the sharpness of his collarbone. 

Seonghwa really needs a fucking drink. 

Eden reads his mind, thank God. “Let me get you a drink, Seonghwa-ssi,” he says. “You two stay here and chat.”

There’s no real reason for Seonghwa to refuse, other than a deep, irrational fear of being alone in the near-dark with Hongjoong when he’s dressed like _that_. “Thanks,” he says, keeping his voice steady. “Vodka tonic, then.” 

“You got it.” Eden disappears behind him, and Seonghwa turns back to Hongjoong.

“You’re not drinking?” he asks, noticing Hongjoong’s empty hands. 

“I’ve already had a couple,” Hongjoong admits. He holds his arms loosely over his chest like he doesn’t know what to do with them. The two drinks would explain the way Hongjoong’s flush doesn’t fade, how his eyes are bright, but a little less focused than they normally would be. His gaze keeps darting all over, to the DJ, the bar, and inexplicably, to Seonghwa’s hands and shoulders and hair.

“You look good,” Seonghwa lets the words spill out of his mouth without thinking twice. 

“Oh,” Hongjoong says, expression surprised, then turning pleased. His body loses some of its tension, relaxing very slightly as he smiles at Seonghwa. “Thanks, hyung. You do too,” he adds. 

Seonghwa is saved from saying anything further by Eden’s return. “One vodka tonic,” he announces, handing the drink to Seonghwa. “Hongjoong-ah, you can’t keep Seonghwa-ssi to yourself all night,” he says with faux disapproval, and gestures for him and Seonghwa to follow him over to a small group of people standing nearby. “Let’s get this party started!”

It goes well after that, even by Seonghwa’s low standards. Eden is practiced at managing the flow of chatter, bringing each person into the conversation and making well-timed jokes to keep the mood light. Seonghwa, for his part, is able to answer questions about himself and the restaurant with passable eloquence. He laughs in all the right places and even gets a few laughs himself with his usual dry, deadpan humor. 

Eden shepherds him around to each group at the party like he’s showing off a prize horse to potential buyers. Hongjoong sticks close to his side, and Seonghwa isn’t sure whether it's because he thinks Seonghwa needs supervision or because he simply -- prefers to be next to Seonghwa. More likely, he decides, Hongjoong feels obligated to hang around because he invited Seonghwa, and abandoning him wouldn’t be polite.

Regardless, Seonghwa can’t help the satisfaction that blooms whenever he hears Hongjoong chuckle at one of Seonghwa’s jokes, the sound almost lost in the noise of conversation. He isn’t sure if it’s the second vodka tonic or the feeling of Hongjoong’s eyes on him when he speaks, but he feels _powerful_ , at ease despite the constant babble of voices and music around him. 

Seonghwa’s about to introduce himself to the latest circle when a tall woman grabs Hongjoong’s arm. “Check your phone,” Seonghwa hears her hiss to him. 

The conversation dies down. Hongjoong, after a quick glance at his phone, looks back up. “I’m so sorry,” he says to the group, smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Hongjoong looks at Seonghwa for a split second and then glances away. “I just need to take care of something and I’ll be right back. Please excuse me.” 

Alarmed, Seonghwa moves to follow him, but Eden grabs his arm. “Don’t worry about it,” Eden says in a low tone. “It’s agency stuff. I’ll go after him.” 

Seonghwa, after a long moment of indecision, nods slowly. On one hand, if he had to deal with a crisis at the restaurant, he’d hate for someone to hang around trying to help out when they had no idea how. On the other hand -- it’s _Hongjoong_ , and Seonghwa really did not like the look in his eyes when he read whatever text was on his phone. 

But he stays. Doesn’t want to overstep his bounds. _You've only known him a month_ , he tells himself. _Don't get ahead of yourself._

“So, Seonghwa, was it?” one of the women in the circle pipes up. She’s smiling, but for some reason Seonghwa takes an instant dislike to her. 

“Yes,” he says. “And your name is?”

The woman does a poor job of hiding her displeasure at the question. Seonghwa’s earlier instincts seem to be confirmed; she’s one of _those_ , the “how could you possibly not know who I am” types. 

“Katie Kim,” she says, smoothing any annoyance from her voice. “And this is my husband, Chan, and my friend Song Chaeyeon. My husband is managing director of Cube Entertainment,” she adds. Seonghwa does not miss the emphasis she adds to the last part. 

“Pleasure to meet you.” Seonghwa bows to them. 

“What is it that you do, Seonghwa?” Katie asks, and Seonghwa marks the lack of honorifics with a prick of irritation. He couldn’t care less about the hierarchy system, but this woman is clearly trying to make a point by leaving it out. 

“I manage a restaurant in Seoul,” he says, omitting the fact that he also owns said restaurant. 

“Oh, which one?” the husband, Chan, asks. 

“It’s called Balwoo Gonyang.”

Seonghwa’s not surprised when their faces remain blank. It’s not the type of restaurant that attracts high class clientele, save for the odd idol who only comes when they’d like comfort food made right. And these people, right here, are the reason why he’s happy with the type of customers they have, despite their relative lack of sophistication. 

“Is that in Gangnam?” the friend asks. 

Seonghwa can barely hold back a snort. “No, it’s in Hapjeong,” he says, and wants to laugh when he sees the expression on their faces.

“Fascinating,” Katie says. She taps a long, bloodred fingernail on her wine glass. “And then, how do you know Hongjoong, if I might ask?”

“Family friends,” the lie rolls off Seonghwa’s tongue with ease. 

“Ah.” They descend into silence.

Seonghwa really hopes Hongjoong and Eden will come back soon. This is what he hates about parties like this. He can deal with endless small talk and the same stale jokes, even can put up with a little arrogance, but people like this are the fucking _worst_. Entitlement is the one thing that Seonghwa cannot stand. 

He had to deal with enough customers over the years who thought waitstaff were their personal punching bags. He promised himself he’d never let anyone treat him like that again, and he never has. 

But _Hongjoong_ , he reminds himself firmly. _Be nice for Hongjoong._ These are, if not his friends, people his friends know. _You can’t embarrass him, so suck it up and smile._

“Where did you go to university?” Chaeyeon asks, before Seonghwa can think of how to restart the conversation. And oh, this should be fun. 

“I didn’t, actually.” 

This time, the look on their faces is actually priceless. 

“You didn’t -- attend university?” Chaeyeon asks again, as if she must have misheard. 

“No, but I did manage to graduate high school,” Seonghwa says cheerfully. He’s having way too much fun suddenly, hopes Hongjoong and Eden take a few more minutes so he can play with these people for a bit longer. 

“That makes sense, actually,” Katie recovers first, smiling the same smile that makes something in Seonghwa twitch. 

“What does?” Seonghwa takes a sip of his drink. 

“Well,” she says, with the air of a teacher explaining something to a struggling student, “If you’re family friends, it’s not surprising that you both come from -- _challenged_ backgrounds.”

“Challenged in what way?” Seonghwa struggles to keep his tone polite. 

“Oh, I just mean, you and Hongjoong both didn’t -- manage to graduate from university. No, excuse me, he dropped out of high school, didn’t he? So you’re actually ahead, aren’t you?”

Seonghwa’s feeling of playfulness disappears. “Ahead,” he repeats flatly, thunder in his ears. 

“Don’t misunderstand her,” Chan cuts in, as if sensing the storm building in Seonghwa. “It’s just that we’re impressed at how successful Hongjoong has been as a producer, given how simple his background is.” And how _simple_ he is, Seonghwa hears loud and clear. His vision turns blurry with anger.

How fucking _dare_ they, these silver spoon idiots. Fucking around every weekend with the same disgustingly rich crowd, evaluating every new face by which of the top Seoul universities their parents groomed them to get into, laughing behind the backs of anyone they think doesn’t belong. Maybe he's overreacting, but Seonghwa wants to punch something. He wants to throw up, he’s so sick of this. Sick of how people can say things like this and _know_ they won’t ever be held accountable because of how many _fucking_ offshore bank accounts they have. 

It takes everything in him not to throw the rest of his drink in their faces. He doesn’t, because they don’t deserve to claim to be the victims. He breathes for a good ten seconds, and when the rage calms enough for him to see straight -- 

“Kim Hongjoong,” he says carefully, “has been so _successful_ because he’s worked almost every waking minute of every day since he dropped out of high school to make the music your company _wishes_ it could produce.” 

“Excuse me --” Katie interrupts him, outraged, but Seonghwa keeps talking.

“And in addition to being one of the hardest workers this industry has ever seen, Kim Hongjoong is a genuinely good person,” Seonghwa bites out. “Which is a concept none of you could understand if it hit you in the face. So,” he pauses, takes in the flushed, shocked faces of his audience. “Please keep the names of those better than you out of your mouths unless it’s to express how much you wish you could learn from them.”

With that, he sets his drink down on the bar and turns to walk away. 

“Hey,” he hears Katie hiss behind him. “Are you going to let him speak to me that way?”

Seonghwa closes his eyes tightly for a second and continues toward the door. He doesn’t feel a hand on his shoulder, tugging him back, so he figures Chan isn’t interested in a fight tonight. He can’t bring himself to really care. The surging rage of a moment ago is gone, and in its place he just feels distant, detached.

Once he’s out in the night air, he starts giggling. Laughs a deep belly laugh, and can’t stop, because wow, what the _fuck_ , he did not expect the night to go like this. Doesn’t regret it though, even if he didn’t get to meet Loco after all, even if he ends up blacklisted from Cube entirely. 

“Hey!”

Seonghwa stops laughing and straightens up. It’s Hongjoong. His concern, like always, is written clearly on his face. Seonghwa loves that about him. He wants to tell Hongjoong, suddenly, wants to tell him how special he is for being this way, for staying authentic, even in this trashcan of an industry. 

But Hongjoong speaks first. “You’re leaving?” he asks, disappointment coloring his voice. 

“I just --” Seonghwa struggles for the right words. Should he tell Hongjoong what happened now, or wait until someone else does? Would Hongjoong be upset? “I just don’t think it’s my scene,” he finishes. 

It’s the wrong thing to say. Hongjoong’s face falls at the words. “What do you mean?” 

“They’re,” he waves a hand. Maybe he is a bit more drunk than he thought he was. “They’re not my type of people, that’s all.”

“Did something happen?” Hongjoong is one step closer to him now, and Seonghwa can see that his eyebrows are knit together, a frown line slicing down between them. The alcohol in Seonghwa makes him want to reach out a finger and smooth it away. 

“No, nothing happened,” he says, putting his hands into his pockets instead. _He’ll find out eventually,_ he thinks, and then bites back, _you coward_.

“Well, what do you mean, they’re not your type, then?” Hongjoong’s face is blank now, devoid of any emotion, and that’s so much worse than the worry that was etched there before. 

“I don’t know,” Seonghwa says helplessly. 

“Just say what you mean.”

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, feeling out of his depth. 

“You think they’re superficial, don’t you.” Hongjoong crosses his arms. “If that’s what you think, then just say it.”

He’s angry, Seonghwa realizes with a sour shock to his stomach. This is what Hongjoong looks like when he’s angry. 

“That’s not what I -- ”

“Come on,” Hongjoong takes another step closer, and at this distance Seonghwa can see the way his lips are pressed together tightly. “If that’s what you think, just admit it.”

“Okay,” the word tumbles out of Seonghwa’s mouth, because the adrenaline from before is still thrumming through his body, and he’s mad now because he doesn’t know what he did to deserve this. “Okay, I do think they’re superficial. I think they’re superficial and shallow and self-absorbed.” _Don’t you think so too?_ he wants to add. _Am I wrong?_

Hongjoong, if anything, gets even angrier. “So you think I’m superficial and shallow and self-absorbed, then,” he says flatly, and Seonghwa never wants to hear that tone coming from him again, aches to think he’s the one who caused it. 

“No, no, absolutely not,” he trips over his words in his rush to speak. 

“No, let me get this straight,” Hongjoong interrupts him. “You think this industry is full of selfish, shallow people who only care about being rich and famous, is that right?”

“Some of them are,” Seonghwa croaks, the vodka making it hard to filter the honesty from his words. Wrong again. Hongjoong crosses his arms tighter over his chest. “But not you,” Seonghwa adds quickly. “I know how hard you worked to get here. I know how talented --”

“Those people are my _friends_ ,” Hongjoong says, the harshness of his voice making Seonghwa wince. “And before you judge them, you might want to take a look in the mirror." 

Seonghwa feels cold. “What does that mean?” 

He thinks he sees regret flash over Hongjoong’s face, but it’s gone before he can be sure. Hongjoong dips his gaze down and directs his words to the ground in front of him. “I mean, you’ve accomplished a lot, but you’re still…”

“I’m still what?” Seonghwa can barely push out the words. 

Hongjoong looks up and squares his shoulders, eyes locked on Seonghwa's with defiance. “You’re alone, okay? You keep yourself so distant from everyone. All you do is work. It hurts to see you smile, because you do it like you’re surprised you still can, ” Hongjoong pauses, sucks in a breath. “It makes me sad to look at you sometimes,” he adds, voice fading to a whisper. 

Seonghwa gets it. He gets it, finally, with a crushing clarity that settles deep into his bones. It all makes sense now, the “catching up,” sharing meals, sharing music, Hongjoong’s inexplicable presence in his restaurant every damn day for the past month. 

“You pity me,” he says. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows he’s right. “You feel sorry for me.” 

It’s definitely regret in Hongjoong’s eyes this time. “Seonghwa --”

“No,” Seonghwa continues over him. “No, I understand now. You feel _guilty_.” He blinks, slowly, mind working to fit the memories of the last few weeks into this realization. “You’ve felt guilty this whole time. Because you got to be an idol and I couldn’t. You couldn’t stand how unfair it was,” he says, thinking out loud. 

“Hyung!” Hongjoong's expression is stricken. 

“And then," Seonghwa continues, "when we met by chance, that day, you thought -- oh, this is my chance to expunge my guilt. This is my chance to make up for getting everything Seonghwa couldn’t have. You saw where my life had gone and you must have felt so _bad_ for me, didn’t you.”

“Hyung, it wasn’t -- it isn’t like that,” Hongjoong says, pleading. 

“Why did you invite me to this party, Joongie?” he asks, voice soft. The nickname comes out instinctually, without him really meaning to say it. 

Hongjoong closes his eyes. “I just wanted to include you in my life,” he says miserably, and Seonghwa almost laughs, because it makes so much _sense_. 

He feels detached again, like he’s watching this conversation play out from miles above, in the clouds. Watching Hongjoong tremble like that, eyelids fluttering like he’s about to burst into tears. Even so far away, Seonghwa feels a prick of concern at the thought, but he pushes it down. “You wanted to give me a taste of the life I never got to have,” he says. “Well, I guess I should get down on my knees and say thank -- ”

“ _Stop it,_ ” Hongjoong hisses. His tone grounds Seonghwa in his body, brings him back down to earth. When Seonghwa focuses on him, his stomach rises into his throat, because Hongjoong’s eyes are welled up with unshed tears and his fists are clenched. “You’re just confirming what I said, you know that? You don’t think you’re worthy of anything, so you’re just pushing me away.”

That’s not true, Seonghwa wants to say, but he can’t make make the words come out. 

When Hongjoong laughs the sound is hollow, empty. He shakes his head, staring at the ground. “I’m going back inside,” he announces finally, doesn’t wait for Seonghwa to respond before turning and striding away. 

Seonghwa watches him until he disappears inside the bar. Then he drags an unsteady hand over his face and feels -- feels the urge to cry, unfamiliar after so many years. But it’s unmistakable, the way his breath hitches when he takes in air. The last time he cried was -- 

The last time he cried was ten years ago. 

In the uber home, he pinches his thigh to stay awake and to distract himself from thinking. Once he’s home, he gulps down two Ambien and falls into bed. _You should have seen this coming,_ he thinks. And then, the last thought before sinking into sleep: _I'm sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gracias por the comments, kudos, support, etc!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and 5 becomes 6..... *adjusts clown nose*
> 
> thanks again for the comments and kudos! should have the last chapter posted by the end of the week <3

“Seonghwa-ssi?”

Seonghwa jerks awake at his desk. Fuck, he must have dozed off somehow. He blinks to clear the sleep from his eyes and scrubs a quick hand over his face. Then he looks down to take in the piles of papers in front of him, covered in chicken scratch notes that are barely legible even though Seonghwa knows he wrote them. His head throbs like its been hit with a rubber hammer. 

There’s a knock on his door. “Seonghwa-ssi,” Chanyoung says again from outside the door. “Can I come in?” 

Seonghwa rubs his eyes and hopes it doesn’t look obvious that he was just napping. “Yes, come in,” he calls. 

When his assistant enters, he’s carrying a pile of envelopes that Seonghwa would bet are all bills. He stifles a groan. 

“The mail came in,” Chanyoung announces. “Electricity, water, and the invoice from when they came to fix the dishwasher.” 

Just what he thought. Just once, Seonghwa would like to be wrong about this kind of stuff. “You can put it down here,” he says, gesturing to the only part of his desk that’s not covered with crap already. 

When Chanyoung straightens up, he _lingers_ in front of Seonghwa, silent and fidgety, like a vampire waiting to be invited in. Seonghwa thinks about letting him stew there for a few minutes without acknowledgement, see how long it takes for him to say whatever’s on his mind. But the pounding in Seonghwa’s temples shortens his patience. 

“Was there something else?” he bites out.

“Are you -- doing okay?” Chanyoung’s voice is wary and gentle, like he’s trying to coax a baby animal out of hiding. 

Seonghwa sighs. He supposes he’s lucky to have gotten by for so long without being forced to have this conversation. “What do you mean?” 

“You’ve been acting kind of weird lately.”

He regrets ever thinking ill of the bills. “How so?” 

“Well, there’s the fact that you took three whole days off,” Chanyoung steps closer to Seonghwa’s desk, “which is three more than I’ve seen you take in two years.” He waves a hand, starting to get more animated. “And when you do show up, you look legitimately _dead_ , like a zombie, refuse to speak to anyone for two whole weeks, and don’t even leave your office to use the freaking bathroom --” 

He stops to take in air, and Seonghwa takes the opportunity to cut in. “Is that it?” 

“Is that -- ” Chanyoung looks like he’s about to tear his hair out, or shake Seonghwa until he screams for mercy. “Is that _it?_ No, that’s definitely not _it_ \--” He takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself, visibly. “Seonghwa-ssi,” he says, adopting that slow, placating tone from before. “Actually, can I call you hyung?”

“No.”

“Seonghwa-ssi,” Chanyoung starts again, unfazed. He tries to make deep, meaningful eye contact with Seonghwa. “Does this whole -- weirdness -- have to do with Hongjoong-ssi?”

The name causes a cold chill to run through him. _Do not think._ Seonghwa has to clear his throat before answering. “What about him?”

“Well, you know, he hasn’t been here since you started this whole -- thing.”

Seonghwa knew this, expected this, but still, hearing it out loud causes his throat to constrict dangerously. _Don’t be an idiot._ He looks down at his desk. “What does that have to do with me,” he says, and it’s more of a statement than a question. 

“You’re telling me that you being dead to the world and Hongjoong deciding to stop coming to the restaurant is a coincidence?” Chanyoung raises one brow. Seonghwa almost wishes he would go back to the slow, soft way of talking, because this is too much for him, the words stabbing into him like knives. 

“He’s traveling,” Seonghwa lies, tries to sound casual. 

“No, he’s not,” Chanyoung retorts. “He did a live interview with ARIRANG yesterday in his studio, which is in _Seoul_. So don’t even try.” 

Seonghwa blinks. “Why would you watch that?” he asks, momentarily distracted. 

“Because!” Chanyoung exclaims. “He stopped visiting, and you looked like you had the plague, and I thought he might have died or something. So I googled him,” he explains, like that’s logical. “Anway, he looks awful, just so you know. The makeup people did what they could, but man, his eyes were so red --” 

Seonghwa doesn’t want to hear this. Doesn’t want to hear this, doesn’t want to know -- 

_Don’t think,_ he reminds himself, _don’t fucking think about --_

“-- and he looked even more dead than you, kept spacing out and asking them to repeat the question -- ”

“That’s enough,” Seonghwa snaps, too forceful. Chanyoung pauses and takes in his expression. Seonghwa doesn’t know what he looks like, but judging from Chanyoung’s wide eyes it must be terrifying. The blood rushes in Seonghwa’s ears. “Please,” he adds, softer. He closes his eyes. 

There’s silence for a long minute. 

Seonghwa makes sure he won’t do something stupid, like _sob,_ and opens his eyes. 

“Seonghwa-ssi,” Chanyoung’s voice is quiet when he speaks. “I’m here if you ever want to talk,” is all he says, and just like that Seonghwa’s at risk of crying again. He blinks very quickly. It’s just hard when he hasn’t slept in days, and the sound of a kind voice hits him where he’s vulnerable. He nods. 

Chanyoung leaves then, thank God, and Seonghwa lets his forehead thud onto his desk. 

___

That night Seonghwa gets back to his apartment at nine, a reasonable hour. He grabs a plastic container of microwaveable ramen, fills it with water, and sticks it in the microwave, the movements automatic, mindless. In the fridge there’s nothing but a bag of carrots that are slimy to the touch. So much for vegetables. Seonghwa makes a mental note to stop by the tiny supermarket on his way home next time, even if the thought of having an extra thing to do exhausts him. 

He’s not doing very well, is the truth. He doesn’t need anyone to tell him, no matter how kindly, because he _knows_. He’s not even sure if he’s better now than he was two weeks ago. When he took those few days off, all he did was drink two entire bottles of wine and a handle of vodka, and watch reruns of How I Met Your Mother until it annoyed him and he sat in silence for hours, staring at the ceiling. He did cry, he thinks, at one or two points during those few days. He remembers curling onto his side, the soft wetness of tears on his face, dripping under his chin; huge, silent sobs.

He ran out of alcohol, eventually, and started getting hungry. So he showered. It didn’t make him feel less dirty. He hadn’t loathed himself like that in a while, had almost forgotten what it was like. He kept seeing flashes of Hongjoong’s face, from that night, eyes glittering with tears, the way his laugh sounded right before he left, damning, like a noose around Seonghwa’s neck. 

Hongjoong is better off this way. It’s the only thing that makes him feel less like scum. And Seonghwa had known it from the moment he stepped on the plane all those years ago. Hongjoong is better off without Seonghwa, without his baggage, his intensity, the way he doesn’t quite fit with people, like a square block in a round hole. Seonghwa wishes he hadn’t let himself hope, because now he just. He hurts, and he knows it will probably go away in time, but for now it just aches, all over, keeps him from sleeping at night. 

The microwave beeps, and Seonghwa pulls out his ramen. He sets it on the counter to cool.

He’s shrugging out of his suit when his phone beeps where it lays on his bed. The screen lights up, and Seonghwa pads over to read the notification. 

Then his knees buckle and he grabs the phone, because --

_Kim Hongjoong has sent a photo._

He unlocks it with a shaking hand. For a second he hesitates, heart pounding, and then he opens the chat head. 

He stares at it. His mind is completely blank of fucking anything for more than a minute as he holds the phone in his hand, eyes locked on the photo like it’ll disappear if he blinks. 

It has to be a mistake. It has to be, Seonghwa thinks hysterically. There’s no way in his wildest dreams Hongjoong would send a selfie to him, on purpose, winking and smiling like that. He hadn’t even done that before everything blew up between them; there’s no way he would do it now. 

Seonghwa puts the phone down on the bed gingerly. Hongjoong will probably realize that he sent it to the wrong person in the next few minutes, will probably shoot off a quick, terse apology, and that’ll be the end of it. Seonghwa will definitely not be weird about it. _No problem_ , he’ll text back, after waiting a while for appearance’s sake. His stomach twists uncomfortably, wondering who the intended recipient of the picture is. Eden, maybe, or Rose. _Or maybe he’s found someone he’s interested in_ , the cruel part of him thinks. _Maybe he wants them to tell him he looks cute._

He breathes in deeply and tells himself to forget about it. He leaves the phone on his bed and finishes changing into loungewear. Then he walks back into the kitchen, grabs his now lukewarm ramen, and turns on the news. With unsteady hands, he slurps down the noodles, unable to fully concentrate on the TV. 

It’s after half-watching for an hour that Seonghwa gives up and walks back into his bedroom. He picks up his phone, holding his breath as he unlocks it. 

Hmmmm. Seonghwa frowns. No new notifications. 

He opens his messaging app to double check. The last thing in his chat with Hongjoong is still the selfie. Seonghwa studies it again. 

It’s been an hour at this point, he thinks. Maybe Hongjoong hasn’t realized he sent it to the wrong person yet, busy with something else while he waits for a response. He should let him know, right? That would be polite, save him some trouble. 

Seonghwa’s thumbs hover over his keyboard. _I think you may have sent that to the wrong person_ , he types out, and sends it without breathing. 

He‘s about to throw the phone on the bed a second time when the little gray typing bubble pops up, throwing his heartbeat into chaos. 

**u respondfded!!!!!!!!!!** Hongjoong replies. 

Seonghwa’s left to stare open-mouthed at the message once again. 

_This is Park Seonghwa,_ he types slowly, because perhaps Hongjoong is unaware, and sends. 

**yes hiiii!!!  
** **hyunggggniiimmmm send a seklvcaaa**  
**sex car**  
**omggggg noooo autocorrect!!!**  
**selca :))))))**  
**oops hahahahahhahahahahh**

What the actual _fuck_ is happening. Seonghwa’s brain feels like cotton candy. 

_Are you drunk?_

**maayyybbeee**

He must be absolutely wasted to be talking to him like this, Seonghwa thinks. It’s a bit concerning, actually. Hongjoong is too kind, too trusting even when he’s sober. This drunk, Hongjoong could get in a lot of trouble if he’s not careful. 

_Where are you?_

**didn’t u recogghnize from the pic??//**

Frowning, Seonghwa scrolls back up to the selfie. He squints at the background. The brown leather couch does look slightly familiar, pushed up against the gray cement -- 

_You’re at the ice cream shop._ The one they went to every chance they got as trainees. It’s right across from the dorms, next to a tiny convenience store. Seonghwa forgot the name, but he remembers being there like it was yesterday. Remembers the torture of watching Hongjoong give kitten licks to his ice cream cone, swipe at his lips with his tongue to make sure there was none on his face. Hongjoong had tasted cold and sweet afterwards, like strawberries and sugar. 

**yessssss!!!111  
** **u remembered :)))0**  


If he’s this drunk he really should not be anywhere but his own apartment. Seonghwa knows from experience, unfortunately. 

_Are you with anyone?_

**nooooo hahahhah  
** **im sposed to go to rose noona’s bday party tho**  
**buut idont wanna wa;k its too far :(((**  


Jesus Christ. Seonghwa has a vision of Hongjoong stumbling out of the shop, barely able to see straight, and wandering straight into traffic. Or taking a wrong turn down a dark alleyway and getting robbed, beaten up, or worse -- 

_You should tell Rose to meet you there._ He types and sends it as fast as he can. 

**hyunng i called her buut it went to voixemail :’’’((((9**

Seonghwa wants to bang his head into the wall. He thinks hard for a second, brain practically whirring, and then types out, _Stay there. I’m going to come meet you._

He waits. 

**hyunngg!!!! ommggg :)))))000**  
**okieee i’ll wait for u!!!11**

Seonghwa shoves his phone into his pocket then. He takes a split second to glance at his reflection in the mirror -- he doesn’t usually go out in sweatpants and a t-shirt, but there’s no time to change, so it will have to do. He grabs his keys and wallet and is out the door in his car within a minute of sending the text. 

It should take about ten, fifteen minutes to get to the ice cream shop from his apartment. Seonghwa’s beyond glad that there isn’t much traffic at this time, despite it being a Saturday night. He really shouldn’t, but he checks his phone when he’s at a red light. 

There’s an email from Spotify and below that: _Kim Hongjoong has sent a photo._

Seonghwa glances up at the stoplight to make sure it’s still red before quickly opening the chat head. And then nearly hits his head on the steering wheel because -- 

**im waaiaiiittting :DDDD**

Seonghwa is not entirely sure he isn’t dreaming, at this point. He stares, eyes caught on the way Hongjoong’s tongue peeks out of his mouth. He’s almost afraid Hongjoong knows that Seonghwa’s never been able to shake his fixation on his mouth. There’s no other way to explain why Hongjoong would _do_ this. 

A loud honk jars him out of whatever gay panic he’s going through, and he looks up to see that the light is green. 

He manages, somehow, to get to the shop in one piece after that, and finds a parking spot almost immediately. 

He has to stop himself from running into the shop, slows to a reasonable power-walk, and nods to the man behind the counter when he enters. He doesn’t recognize him, of course, that would be ridiculous after ten years. But just being here sparks memories; taste, smell, touch. It’s almost too much for him, all at once. 

The couch Hongjoong’s on is toward the back, tucked around the corner, Seonghwa remembers. 

“We close at eleven,” the man warns him as he walks past. 

Seonghwa nods again. His heart is beating out of control, for some reason. When he rounds the corner, Hongjoong’s slumped on the couch, playing with a loose thread in the pillow. He senses Seonghwa almost instantly and looks up, a wide smile taking over his face. “Hyung!” 

Seonghwa doesn’t know what to do. In two weeks he’d somehow forgotten how blinding Hongjoong is, not just the shock of his red hair, but the brightness of his smile and eyes. He stands there, dumbly, unable to do anything but take in the fact that it’s really _Hongjoong_ sitting there in front of him, smiling like _that_ , at _Seonghwa._ Even after what they said to each other. 

“Hyung, do you want ice cream?” Hongjoong asks eagerly. He stands and stumbles almost immediately. Seonghwa unfreezes in time to catch him before he falls, one hand going to his arm and the other on his side to steady him. 

“Why don’t we just sit down for a while?” Seonghwa says. He ignores the way that, this close, Hongjoong smells like floral soap, maybe lavender. 

“Okay." Hongjoong's face is red, probably from the fear of falling, Seonghwa thinks. 

They sit on the couch together. Hongjoong slides down, resting his head on the fabric and turning to the side. “Do you remember the last time we were here?” he asks Seonghwa, smiling again. 

Seonghwa thinks. “It was the week before I left,” he says slowly. “They had the summer flavor -- what was it? Raspberry something?” 

“Raspberry cheesecake.” Hongjoong’s smile is even wider now, if possible. 

“Oh, right.” 

“I remember because I told you I could taste the cheese afterwards,” Hongjoong says, and grins when Seonghwa chokes. “Don’t you remember that part?” 

_Are you flirting with me?_ Seonghwa can’t look him in the eye. “I -- maybe,” he says hoarsely. 

“Anyway.” Hongjoong seems to take pity on him and turns his head so he’s staring at the ceiling. “I think I’m drunk.” He giggles. 

"They’re closing soon,” Seonghwa says. “Do you want me to drive you home?” 

Hongjoong scrunches his nose. It’s decidely _not_ cute, definitely fucking not, Seonghwa thinks. “The power’s out in my building. I’m supposed to stay at Rose-noona’s house tonight.” He fucking _pouts_ at Seonghwa then, there’s no other word for it, bottom lip pushed out as he frowns. “But my phone is dead now.” 

Shit. Seonghwa looks down and wishes his heart weren’t still racing. He gathers his strength. “Do you want to stay at mine, then?” he asks, tries not to sound awkward. 

“Can I?” It’s dangerous, the way Hongjoong’s looking at him, like Seonghwa has offered something much more than just a place to stay for the night. _He’s drunk,_ Seonghwa reminds himself, _don’t imagine things._ “Are you sure?” 

“No problem.” 

“Okay, let’s go!” Hongjoong jumps up suddenly, making Seonghwa flinch. He wobbles but manages to right himself, giggling again, before Seonghwa can step in. “I can’t wait to see your apartment,” he tells Seonghwa. 

Seonghwa is _fucked_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im @eongkyeo if u wanna be friends on twt!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first important note: this chapter includes some imperfect consent. basically one character tries to set boundaries out of concern that the other character is drunk, but the drunk character tries to convince him that the boundaries aren't needed. however both characters are fully into what happens even if consent is not explicitly asked for/granted for every act. 
> 
> the ending is insp by ateez's song promise!! also i know it's a super abrupt ending esp given what happens beforehand but i hate ending fics and i never know what to do lol. but at least it's happy??
> 
> also someone said on twt that HJ was really into mamma mia at a fansign so that's canon folx
> 
> a certain part of the fic is also insp by [this photo](https://scontent-lga3-1.cdninstagram.com/vp/288ba055bb3e2c68aacf7af5ccfd1549/5DB9D9A2/t51.2885-15/e35/c1.0.629.629/65391476_137349497466246_376289394779385368_n.jpg?_nc_ht=scontent-lga3-1.cdninstagram.com)
> 
> thanks again for all of your support for this fic. it's been an honor writing for this fandom! y'all are so unfailingly kind and fun :)

“Oh,” Hongjoong says in a long breath, craning his head around to take in the apartment. 

Standing beside him, Seonghwa tries to look at the apartment through his eyes. It’s spartan—minimalist might be a kinder word. The walls are bare, the color scheme a muted mix of gray and white. Everything is clean and orderly, except—oh. He’d left the bowl of ramen on the table in his hurry to leave, he realizes with embarrassment. 

Hongjoong’s eyes follow his to the bowl and he turns to Seonghwa with a grin. “Are those gourmet?” 

“Don’t even try,” Seonghwa shoots back, words braver than he feels. “You _lived_ off that stuff when we were training.” 

“I still do, hyung,” Hongjoong replies, eyes twinkling. The looseness of his smile reminds Seonghwa that he’s tipsy, or even a bit more than that. 

He clears his throat. “Do you want to sit down?” he asks, gesturing toward the couch. “Or, if you’re tired, you’re welcome to—”

“I’m not tired, _mom_ ,” Hongjoong cuts him off playfully. He walks over and throws himself on the couch, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. “Ah,” he says, almost to himself. Then he opens his eyes and turns back to Seonghwa. “Come sit,” he orders with faux seriousness, patting the pillow next to him. 

Seonghwa sits. 

“I can put on something to watch,” he offers, throat dry for some reason. It could be the way Hongjoong scooted closer to him as soon as he sat down, erasing at least half of the space Seonghwa had carefully left between them.

“Okay,” Hongjoong says, looking at him with a dreamy, soft expression, and Seonghwa fumbles with the remote. 

When he finally manages to turn the fucking TV on, he skips through the channels slowly, unsure what to choose. 

“Let’s watch a movie, hyung,” Hongjoong says beside him. 

Seonghwa, relieved, skips to the movie channels and begins going through them. Action, animated, action again, shootout, Marvel movie he watched but forgot the name of, something on an island, period piece, and—

“Oh oh oh!” Hongjoong’s sudden staccato shout makes Seonghwa flinch. “Go back,” he tells Seonghwa, tugging on his shirt. Seonghwa obliges, bemused. “Yes! This one,” Hongjoong says. “Aw, too bad it’s the end.”

It’s the movie that looks like it’s set on an island. Seonghwa can see now that must be Greece, or somewhere like it. It’s in English, subtitled in Korean. A young blonde woman is speaking with an older blonde woman about a wedding.

“You know what this is, right?” Hongjoong asks. 

“Um.”

“Seonghwa-hyung.” Hongjoong stares at him open-mouthed. “This is Mamma Mia,” he continues. At Seonghwa’s blank look, he splutters, sitting up and looking affronted. “ _Mamma Mia,_ ” he repeats. 

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” Seonghwa says cautiously.

“But—” Hongjoong blinks for a moment. Then he seems to recover from the shock, and he grins, turning back to the TV. “You’re going to love it,” he promises. 

Seonghwa does not share his certainty, but he’d watch a dog show if it meant seeing Hongjoong smile at him like that. 

He turns back to the screen. The conversation between the two women is over, and now the younger blonde woman is wearing a wedding dress and walking up a hill, accompanied by a large group of people. The older blonde woman is in the crowd, but a man pulls her to the side. 

“Those two used to be dating.” Seonghwa barely contains a full body shudder because Hongjoong’s suddenly very close, whispering in his ear. “The whole movie is about how she slept with three men and got pregnant, and now her daughter is getting married and no one knows who the father is but all of the men are at the wedding.” 

Hongjoong finishes his explanation but doesn’t lean away, eyes on the screen as the woman starts to sing. “The winner takes it all,” she belts out. 

Hongjoong sighs beside him. “Ah, I love this part,” he says wistfully. And then he sinks down and rests his head on Seonghwa’s shoulder, nudging into the curve of his neck as he watches the screen. 

If there was any chance of Seonghwa enjoying the movie, it’s gone now. He tries to stay calm but he cannot _breathe_ , the smell of flowers stronger now, Hongjoong’s hair soft on his neck. His shoulder is warm where Hongjoong presses against it, but Hongjoong mercifully keeps his hands to himself, held loosely on his lap. 

Seonghwa does his best to concentrate on the movie. Especially since it’s Hongjoong’s favorite. He really tries, but it’s too damn distracting the way Hongjoong keeps shifting slightly as he watches the movie, pressing against a different part of Seonghwa whenever he does.

Hongjoong seems to have memorized the entire movie, keeps whispering the lines as the actors say them. Seonghwa manages to pay attention as the daughter decides to postpone the wedding and travel the world with her fiance. One of the men proposes to the mother and they get married, and bam, happy ending. 

It’s honestly not something Seonghwa would watch on his own, but he’s not surprised it’s one of Hongjoong’s favorites. As the movie wraps up, he can’t help but get drawn into the catchy song at the end—“take a chance on meeeeee,” Hongjoong sings along—and could even see himself giving it another listen on his own. 

The end credits roll. Hongjoong doesn’t lift his head for a while, and Seonghwa wonders if he’s fallen asleep on his shoulder. Then he sits up—still close, too close—and smiles widely at Seonghwa. “Did you like it?” he asks. 

“It was good,” Seonghwa says. “I’d like to listen to the whole soundtrack,” he adds, and feels irrationally pleased when Hongjoong’s eyes light up. 

“I’ll send it to you,” Hongjoong promises. 

They lapse into silence. Seonghwa feels awkward, like a kid again. “Would you like to go to sleep now?” he asks, hands tense on his thighs. He can sense Hongjoong looking at him, but the closeness is frightening, and Seonghwa can’t make himself meet his gaze. 

“I shouldn’t have said those things to you.”

Seonghwa does look up then, his surprise overcoming his fear of eye contact. Hongjoong’s face is barely a foot away. His expression is so serious, earnest, it makes something in Seonghwa’s stomach twist. 

“It was true,” he says. It feels good to admit it out loud. “Everything you said was true.”

Hongjoong frowns. “Still, I shouldn’t have said it that way.”

“Well.” Seonghwa hasn’t apologized in so long, he feels lost, a bit rusty. “I shouldn’t have said those things about the—about your friends.” 

Hongjoong looks away and breathes out in a long sigh. “Eden told me about what happened before you left,” he says slowly. 

“Oh.” 

Seonghwa’s not sure why he’s so taken aback; of course someone would have heard, would have spread it around. But Hongjoong doesn’t seem mad, or if he is, he’s hiding it well. When he turns to look at Seonghwa again, the intensity in his gaze is almost frightening. “You didn’t need to defend me like that,” he says, and they’re so close that Seonghwa imagines he can feel the shape of the words hit his face. And then, softer: “Thank you.”

That’s just. Seonghwa doesn’t quite understand what he’s hearing. _What are you thanking me for?_ he wants to ask. _For being a decent human being?_ It’s ridiculous, honestly, that this would be Hongjoong’s reaction. How badly has he been treated that he thinks Seonghwa would find that acceptable behavior? And, worse, what does he think of Seonghwa, that he didn’t expect him to say anything about it?

Hongjoong’s still looking at him. 

“I wouldn’t let anyone say those things about you,” he says fiercely. “Not even the fucking president.” He forces himself to make eye contact, because fuck those people, and fuck the industry, and fuck everything, because Hongjoong is the hill he wants to die on. Would be lucky to fucking die on. “I would do it again if I—”

Hongjoong’s mouth is on his then, cutting him off. Chaste, just a firm press of soft lips to his own for a singular second.

It happens too fast for Seonghwa to even fully process. Hongjoong draws back, leaving a spare few inches between their faces, and looks at him with deep, unreadable eyes. 

Seonghwa’s breath is caught in his throat. Without thinking, his eyes dip down to Hongjoong’s mouth again—which was _just touching_ his—and then Hongjoong closes the distance between them again and kisses him with more determination, licking at the seam of his lips like he’s frustrated that they’re still closed. 

Seonghwa feels hot all over, burns like he has a fever. He doesn’t open his mouth, though, and after a second he pushes Hongjoong away with a gentle hand. “You’re drunk,” he says. “We shouldn’t.”

Hongjoong frowns, expression tight with anger and frustration. “That’s it?” he asks. He tries to catch Seonghwa’s eyes, but Seonghwa keeps them trained on the table next to them. He knows if he takes one more look at Hongjoong he’ll do whatever the fuck he wants. But it’s wrong to take this further when he’s sober and Hongjoong is not. “Come on,” Hongjoong urges, places a hand on Seonghwa’s arm. “I’m barely drunk, and I want this, I swear, I want this so much.”

The words cause a hot current to run through him, all the way from his head to his toes. _Focus_. “It’s not right, Joongie,” he says softly. 

“So the only reason you won’t is because I’m drunk?” Hongjoong demands. “If I wasn’t, you’d want this? You’d want me?”

Seonghwa wants to laugh, suddenly. To him it’s so obvious, how far gone he is for Hongjoong. How, for ten fucking years, he’s been ruined for any other person because of the man in front of him. “Yes,” he says, and feels like his entire heart has spilled out alongside the word. 

“Seonghwa-hyung.” Hongjoong moves so that there’s no way Seonghwa can avoid his gaze. “I’ve waited for this for years, you know that?” 

He must see the guilt rise on Seonghwa’s face because his face softens. “No, it’s not like that,” he says. He looks to the side. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t, like, make a formal decision or anything. It was hard enough with the group, but even when I could have, I just,” he blinks at the ground. “No one even seemed interesting enough.”

The words should make Seonghwa feel bad, and he does. He would never wish ten years of loneliness on anyone, let alone Hongjoong. At the same time, though, there’s a thread of satisfaction running through his guilt. Even for all that time, Hongjoong knew he belonged to Seonghwa, even if he didn’t consciously recognize it. The possessiveness that he’s tried to suppress flares hot in his stomach. 

He can’t help but reach out a hand, thumb brushing over the delicate skin of Hongjoong’s cheekbone. Hongjoong’s eyes flutter shut at the motion, and _oh_ , Seonghwa is momentarily distracted by how beautiful he is. 

Then he pulls his focus back, because he wants to say something. “You were the reason my relationship ended,” he says. Hongjoong’s eyes open at the words, and Seonghwa continues, “I never talked about my childhood, so he dug around and found out I was a KQ trainee. I wasn’t happy about it, but that wasn’t the problem.” Seonghwa’s blood goes hot at the memory. “He showed me a picture of Ateez, one day, because he thought I’d find it funny, or interesting, or something. And then he started talking about you, saying—he said some things.” 

_This one’s so pretty,_ his ex had said, and Seonghwa had tried to stay calm. _You just know all the others are taking turns with him, right?_ and he’d _laughed_. 

Seonghwa closes his eyes. “He didn’t understand why I was so angry. And then he put it together, that you and I,” he pauses. Hongjoong waits, expression hard to read. “Anyway, I guess I hadn’t been the most, uh, emotionally available boyfriend. And he realized it was because I was still—because I’d always been—”

Hongjoong leans in then, and Seonghwa sucks in a breath but he just—he wraps his arms tightly around Seonghwa and hugs him. Holds him like that, one hand coming up to cradle his head like a baby. “I’m sorry,” Hongjoong whispers into his shoulder, “I’m so sorry,” and Seonghwa lets out a deep, shuddering breath and lets himself melt into the embrace. 

It feels so good to be held, almost better than how it felt to be kissed. He’d felt so broken when his ex ended things. Not because he wanted them to stay together, fuck no, but because he felt like it was the universe telling him he’d never be able to open himself up to another person again. _But he wants you too._ The thought is too wildly thrilling for Seonghwa to wrap his mind around, except for the tight hold Hongjoong currently has him in. _He feels the same way_.

Hongjoong’s eyes are glistening when he pulls back. Seonghwa’s chest tightens. He doesn’t want Hongjoong to _cry_ over his stupid story. He shouldn’t have said anything. But he wanted to, the raw honesty of Hongjoong’s voice wringing out a response from deep within him. 

“Don’t cry,” he whispers helplessly. 

Hongjoong blinks. His gaze lowers to Seonghwa’s mouth, then comes up again, a question in his eyes. “Please,” he breathes, and then, after a beat: “If you want to.”

Seonghwa feels his defenses crumble. “Just kissing,” he concedes. “No further, okay?”

He barely finishes the sentence before Hongjoong kisses him for the third time. This time, Seonghwa slowly lets his mouth open, lets their tongues slide together, wet and hot. Hongjoong _moans_ at the contact, and Seonghwa remembers with a flash of heat that this is the first time he’s been kissed in ten years. The thought is shockingly arousing. It explains the messiness of it, the way Hongjoong kisses him like he’s relearning how to do it, relearning the contours of Seonghwa’s mouth with his lips and tongue. 

It would also explain the noises he keeps making, little groans and whimpers spilling out whenever Seonghwa sucks on his tongue or tilts his head to get a different angle. It’s driving Seonghwa out of his _mind._

Somehow Hongjoong ends up on top of him, pushing Seonghwa down to horizontal as he slots his body over Seonghwa’s, still kissing him hungrily. Seonghwa knows he should stop them, push him away like he did before, but it feels so _good._ He’s half hard already, dick tenting the crotch of his sweatpants. One hand finds its way into Hongjoong’s hair, the other holds his jaw. 

“You taste so good,” Hongjoong pants, drawing back for air. He’s wrecked. There’s no other word for it, the way his eyelids sit at half mast, mouth swollen and shiny with spit. Seonghwa’s dick twitches at the sight.

He’s breathing heavily. He should say it then. _Let’s take a break,_ he should say, move out from under Hongjoong carefully, give him some water and go to bed. There’s no reason he should let this continue, because it’s too damn close to becoming something more than _just kissing_ , especially if he lets himself look at Hongjoong any longer. 

He hesitates for too long, though, because Hongjoong ducks his head again and starts mouthing at Seonghwa’s neck, sucking at his skin like he’s starving. He’d been kneeling over Seonghwa, leaving room between their bodies even as they’re practically on top of each other, but suddenly he lowers himself down fully and _oh fuck_ , there’s no space between them anymore. Hongjoong’s thigh presses down just right on Seonghwa’s dick and he can’t stifle a groan.

Then he feels a hardness against his hip and realizes that Hongjoong’s hard too.

 _Jesus._ He didn’t think it was possible to get any more aroused. This is when he really needs to say something, because Hongjoong is still biting bruises onto his skin, and now he’s rubbing his crotch against Seonghwa’s hip with small, desperate movements, moaning into his neck. Seonghwa bites his lip so hard he must break the skin. 

He manages to hold it together for a few seconds. Then Hongjoong shifts and his thigh drags perfectly against Seonghwa’s dick, the friction just right. Seonghwa’s hand tightens in Hongjoong’s hair in response, pulling without meaning to. 

Hongjoong whines, high-pitched, and pushes against Seonghwa’s hip one last time before stilling and slumping onto him. 

Seonghwa blinks down at him, arousal dimmed by confusion and concern. Then he realizes, with a slow curl of heat in his stomach, _oh._ Did he just…

His dick jumps and spills out precome, because that’s the _hottest_ thing he’s ever experienced. 

Hongjoong remains slumped over him, unmoving, for long enough that Seonghwa wonders whether he should make sure he’s still alive. But after another few seconds, Hongjoong raises his head. His face is as red as a tomato. 

“Did you…?” Seonghwa is almost sure his dick is what makes him ask the question. 

“I’m going to die,” Hongjoong groans. Then he grimaces and climbs off Seonghwa, movements stilted and awkward. When he straightens up, Seonghwa can’t stop himself from looking toward the crotch of his jeans, and yep, there’s a dark wet spot. 

Hongjoong notices where he’s looking and angles his lower body away. “Yah! Please do not extend my humiliation.”

“It’s fine,” Seonghwa says, smiling. He knows it must be embarrassing for Hongjoong, but for some reason the whole situation makes him unreasonably happy. Hongjoong got off on him, literally. Hongjoong likes him. Life is wonderful. 

“You’re still hard?” Hongjoong’s question brings him back to the present. “I could, um, help you out?” 

Seonghwa sits up, adjusts his dick in what he hopes is a casual way. “No, it’s alright,” he says, finally strong enough to follow the principles he’s been failing all night.

“Are you sure? I could give you a, a handjob or something.” 

Seonghwa sucks in a breath and closes his eyes to get rid of that visual. “Not that I wouldn’t enjoy that, but I think we should call it a night,” he says. He congratulates himself mentally. _Good job, Seonghwa. You’re not entirely thinking with your dick after all._

Hongjoong nods and turns his body to face him, covering his groin with his hands. “Do you think I could borrow some clothes?” he asks, face still red. 

“Of course.” 

Seonghwa walks into his bedroom and grabs a pair of clean boxers and a silk pajama set he barely bothers to use. He returns to the living room and hands the clothes to Hongjoong. 

“Thanks, hyung.” Hongjoong looks around the apartment. “Bathroom is?”

“Second door over there.” Seonghwa points. 

Once Hongjoong’s ensconced in the bathroom, Seonghwa drops back onto the couch with a controlled sigh. Then he realizes he should probably give the bed to Hongjoong, and goes to retrieve one of his pillows. He’s just placed it onto the couch when the bathroom door opens.

Seonghwa knows he’s staring. The pajama set is too big for Hongjoong, sleeves covering his hands and pants falling over his feet. He looks _tiny_. He looks adorable. Seonghwa really needs to stop staring. 

“It’s a little big,” Hongjoong says, blushing at the attention. 

Seonghwa clears his throat. “But it’s okay? Comfortable, I mean?”

“It’s great, thank you.” 

“I just changed the sheets a couple days ago, but I can put new ones on if you’d like,” Seonghwa says, gesturing toward the bedroom. 

Hongjoong frowns. “You’re giving me the bed?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re going to sleep with me, right?” Hongjoong turns red and backtracks, waving his hands quickly. “I didn’t mean—what I meant was, we’ll share?”

The thought of it makes Seonghwa warm with a feeling he can’t identify. It’s _domestic,_ that’s what it is. He hasn’t shared a bed with someone since his breakup, never stayed the night during the handful of one night stands he’s had since then. And this would be Hongjoong, so much better than a stranger’s warm body. 

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Seonghwa says after a beat. “I’ll just get ready for bed, then,” he adds, coward that he is, and flees into the bathroom. 

He brushes his teeth slowly. He’s not sure if he wants Hongjoong to be asleep when he comes out, or awake, waiting for him with a soft smile. Then there’s the fact that there’s still a current of muted arousal running through him, like a lingering adrenaline rush. He remembers the warm weight of Hongjoong’s body pressed over his, the hums and moans he made with Seonghwa’s tongue in his mouth, like he couldn’t stop himself from expressing how good it felt. He’s loud, Seonghwa knows now. _He’d be so loud getting fucked,_ he thinks, and shit, his dick is hardening against his thigh. 

He looks down at the tent in his sweatpants with slight alarm. He really cannot get into a bed with Hongjoong with an erection. So he’ll just have to take care of it quickly, here in the bathroom. 

Biting his lip, Seonghwa pulls down the waistband of his sweatpants so it sits below his balls. He spits, as quietly as possible, into his hand and spreads the wetness onto his dick. The feeling is better than normal, after being on edge for hours, and he gives himself a few firm strokes, feels his dick fill out in his hand. 

He’d refused to let himself jerk off to Hongjoong since their chance meeting. At least, he'd tried not to. It felt too dirty, too creepy. But whenever he got close to orgasm, his mind went straight to Hongjoong, conjuring up images of his lips, eyes, imagining what he’d look like bare and stretched out under Seonghwa’s gaze. 

Seonghwa groans, pumping his arm faster. He can’t spend much longer in the bathroom without it being weird. That’s the only reason he allows himself bring up the fantasies he’d tried to suppress for so long. 

Hongjoong had offered a handjob. He fixates on that, thumb brushing over the head of his cock. Fuck, but Hongjoong would look so good kneeling in front of him, Seonghwa's hard dick in front of his face. He’d be a bit shy, maybe, due to inexperience. Would lick his lips looking at Seonghwa’s dick and reach out a tentative hand. And _oh,_ Seonghwa fucks into his hand with a quiet groan, his tiny hands wouldn’t be able to close around the girth of his cock. It would look obscene, huge, held in his small fingers. He’d give it a few hesitant strokes, looking up at Seonghwa like he wants to make sure he’s doing it right. Seonghwa would be a good teacher. He’d tell him he was doing so, so good, encourage him to go faster, grip his dick with two hands. Maybe he’d put a hand in his hair, like before, because he seemed to like it. 

_Ah_. He’s close already. He bites his lip, hard, the slick, rapid movements of his hand embarrassingly loud in the quiet space. He’d warn Hongjoong before he was about to come, warn him to move so he could come into his own hand. But Hongjoong would refuse, stubborn. _Come on me, hyung,_ Hongjoong would tell him. Seonghwa’s hips stutter at the thought. And then he’d come—spurt onto his face, his hair, his pretty mouth, eyes wide with surprise—

Seonghwa comes into his fist with a deep groan. He pumps his dick a few more times, feeling the stickiness of his come coat his fingers. He comes down from the high quickly, a pit of guilt forming in his stomach when he remembers Hongjoong is one room away. 

He wipes his dick off and washes his hands and face. 

When he walks softly into the bedroom, Hongjoong looks up from his phone and smiles. “Hi,” he greets Seonghwa, and puts the phone on the nightstand. Then he scoots down so he’s horizontal. “It seemed like you like the right side, so I hope this is okay.”

“That’s fine,” Seonghwa says. There’s no reason for him to stand there, so he steels himself and climbs onto the bed, movements careful. “Should I get the light?”

“Sure.”

They lay there in silence. Seonghwa imagines he can feel the heat of him, even from a foot away. It’s feels like a sleepover, when everyone says they’re going to sleep but stays up, knowing the others are awake, waiting for someone to start the conversation again. 

“Is this weird?” Hongjoong’s voice is small in the darkness. 

Seonghwa swallows. “Is what weird?” 

“Us. This.” He can feel Hongjoong turn onto his side to look at him in the darkness. “The kissing, and, um, the other stuff.”

He turns toward Hongjoong. His face is blurry, cast in shadows. “I’m not feeling weird,” he lies. 

Hongjoong lets out a long breath. “I just don’t want you to push me away. I don’t want you to feel like it’s too much and—” he cuts off, voice shaking. “I want you. I want to be with you without being afraid you’ll run away.”

Seonghwa’s heart throbs in his chest. “I want that too,” he says, tries to infuse the words with as much conviction as he can. He reaches out and feels for Hongjoong’s hand, clasps it tightly in his own. “I’m afraid too,” he admits. “I don’t have much experience with—” _love,_ he wants to say, but the word is too frightening to speak aloud, “—this kind of thing,” he finishes. “Sometimes think I don’t deserve it, and it’s—difficult. But I won’t leave, even if it gets hard. I won’t leave unless you want me to.” The words feel heavy on his tongue but they’re the truest things he’s ever said.

Hongjoong’s hand is soft, held in his own. 

“Do you promise?”

Seonghwa squeezes his hand. “I promise,” he says. “It’s our promise.” 

They fall asleep like that, fingers interlocked, warm to the touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i might add a smut chapter just detailing additional sex acts // cherry popping but not sure when ill have time to write and post it! but keep an eye out!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ppl when they see my fic at the top of the ateez tag again: this bitch???? again???!!!!??? they promised it would END 
> 
> anyway here's some smut with a side of feelings :) and then i will write ONE LAST SMUT CHAPTER AND THERE WILL BE ANOTHER HAPPY ENDING and it'll be over for sure!!
> 
> thanks for all the comments and <3!

_Bleep bleep._

Seonghwa rolls over, growling into his pillow in frustration. He’s been dangling on the edge of unconsciousness for hours now, exhausted but somehow unable to slip off into sleep. He burrows his face into the pillow and squeezes his eyes shut. 

_Bleep bleep._

Mother _fucking—_

He groans and opens his eyes, staring at the ceiling. Another sleepless night, he thinks, resigned, and reaches over to turn his phone to silent.

Then he blinks enough to clear the haze from his eyes and his frustration vanishes. It’s Hongjoong who’s been messaging him. 

**hyung! hi**  
**ah u must be asleep haha**

They’ve only been apart for a week and a half, but it feels like _years_ to Seonghwa. First KCON Japan, then a music festival in some godforsaken part of the American Midwest, and now California for another KCON. Seonghwa knows he should be glad that Hongjoong’s in such demand, but it’s hard, because they’d only been—they’d only had this _thing_ for a month before Hongjoong had to leave for two whole weeks. 

Two weeks. Seonghwa feels ridiculous getting worked up over it, but he _misses_ him, hates how far away he is. A part of him is scared, too, but he feels even worse about that. Scared that Hongjoong will step on a plane and remember he’s an internationally acclaimed idol and Seonghwa’s just—what? A restaurant manager who can barely take care of himself on the best of days? 

The morning after they kissed, Seonghwa had woken up with his nose full of the scent of Hongjoong’s hair, spooning him from behind, warmth all along his front. Hongjoong wouldn’t kiss him without brushing his teeth first, and that should have been the first sign. Because Seonghwa was disappointed he couldn’t have sleepy morning kisses in their soft cocoon, when life wasn’t sharp and real yet. That should have been the first sign, that he didn’t mind—that he _wanted_ to taste the sourness of Hongjoong’s morning breath on his tongue. 

Since then, they’d spent weekends together, going places away from the crowds of summer tourists. They did things like watch movies and eat at restaurants and get bubble tea. Hongjoong had even said he wanted to go ice skating when it got cold. 

It was strange. Seonghwa hadn’t done any of those things in so long, he felt like an imposter, like it was a fake version of himself holding the hand Hongjoong had slipped into his when they were out of view. Holding Hongjoong’s small hand made him feel things that scared him with their intensity, a mix of possessiveness and tenderness that made his knees weak the first time it surged through him. 

He’s still waiting for Hongjoong to realize he’s nowhere near worthy of him. Waiting for Hongjoong to get tired of how he freezes like a kid whenever Hongjoong touches him in the easy way he’s adopted since that night. Simple things like hands on his waist or tucking himself into his shoulder, stealing intimacy when no one’s looking. 

Seonghwa pushes down the wave of longing that rises in his stomach. Hongjoong will be back in a few days, and it’ll be fine. _Unless he’s realized what a huge mistake he’s making_ , a part of him thinks, and no, that’s not—he’s not thinking about it. 

_I’m not asleep,_ he sends finally. _How are you?_

 **missing u :(** The reply comes almost immediately. Seonghwa’s fully awake now, warmth blooming on the back of his neck. Before he can respond, Hongjoong sends him another message: **can we vc?**

He draws in a quick breath, nerves sparking in his stomach. _Sure_ , he types and sends, then turns to fumble with the bedside lamp, wincing when the light hits his eyes. 

A second later, Hongjoong calls, and Seonghwa accepts with a silent, hopeless prayer that he doesn’t look like absolute shit. 

“Hyung,” Hongjoong greets him, smiling widely. 

Seonghwa takes in his blue contact lenses, the shades of pink and brown eyeshadow rimming his eyes. He’s in his hotel room, it looks like, and his hair is damp with sweat. 

Even through the imperfect quality of the connection, he’s stunning. Seonghwa is speechless. 

“Hyung, are you okay?”

“Yeah—yes,” he says quickly. He allows himself to break into a soft smile. “Did you just perform?”

Hongjoong settles onto his bed, holding the phone in front of his face. “Yep. It was weird to be there as a soloist, though. The stage feels so much bigger when you’re alone. Anyway,” he continues, shifting his head on the pillow. “How are you? What’s new?”

“Nothing much.” _Say it,_ his brain screams. _Say it_ — “I missed you too,” he says before he can stop himself. 

Hongjoong’s smile feels like it’s special, secret, just for him. “Aw, hyung,” he says. Then he frowns. “Why are you awake?”

Seonghwa shrugs, then realizes Hongjoong can’t see it through the phone. “Couldn’t fall asleep.”

“Turn off the light, maybe?” His voice is teasing, and Seonghwa relaxes into the familiarity of it.

“I thought Americans didn’t use sarcasm,” he shoots back. 

“Hyung, that’s all they use. You’d thrive here.”

“Who says I’m not thriving here?” 

“Empirical evidence,” Hongjoong suggests, the corner of his mouth quirked up. “Seriously, hyung, you can turn the light off. I saw your face, I’m happy now. We can just do audio.”

Before Seonghwa can protest, Hongjoong disappears, a gray screen appearing where his face was a moment ago. “Seonghwa-hyung, please,” the words crackle out. 

“Fine.” Seonghwa switches his video off and reaches over to turn off the lamp, casting the room in darkness once again. He sinks down and places the phone next to his head on the pillow. “Better now?”

“As much as it can be when I can’t see you.”

“Very smooth.” He smiles, feeling freer now that he’s unseen. 

“Oh, I know.” There’s a pause, and Seonghwa hears a rustling sound. “Sorry, I’m just, uh, getting changed.” 

Seonghwa swallows. “That’s okay,” he says, and then, because he’s an _idiot_ , asks, “What are you wearing?”

Hongjoong doesn’t respond for a few excruciating seconds, and Seonghwa wants to throw his phone out the fucking window, and then: “It’s actually the pajamas I borrowed from you,” he tells Seonghwa. 

“Oh,” is all Seonghwa can think to say. The memory of the last time he saw Hongjoong in those pajamas rises, unbidden, and arousal flickers in his abdomen. He pushes it down forcefully. “That’s nice.” 

“Is that how you’ve been missing me?” Hongjoong teases. His voice is light but careful, like he knows he’s treading on ground that hasn’t been tested yet. “I haven’t actually put them on yet.”

 _Oh_. The heat flares again, impossible to ignore. “Joong-ah,” he says hoarsely.

“We don’t have to.” He hears a sound that must be Hongjoong laying on the bed again. Laying on the bed naked, if what he just said is true, and the image sticks in Seonghwa’s brain, driving out any other thoughts. “But I’ve been missing you like that too, if that helps.”

“I don’t—I’ve never done this before,” Seonghwa feels like he has to say. 

The sound of Hongjoong’s laugh does nothing to derail his arousal. “Finally, something we both haven’t done before.”

There’s silence for a moment and then Seonghwa asks, voice cracking slightly, “Are you touching yourself?”

“Yeah,” the word comes out more as a sigh. “Are you hard?”

Seonghwa lets his hand ghost over his budding erection and bites his lip. “Yes,” he admits. He pulls down his boxers and lets his dick sit, half-hard, against his thigh. 

It fattens up in seconds when he gives it a few strokes, imagining Hongjoong with his small hand wrapped around his own cock, arching his back maybe, nipples peaked. 

“What are you thinking about?” Hongjoong’s voice is breathless. 

“You fucking my hand,” Seonghwa says, and his dick pulses when Hongjoong lets out a rough sound. 

The first time Seonghwa had wrapped a hand around Hongjoong’s dick, he’d started slow. Loose strokes, teasing, but even the light touches had Hongjoong panting into his shoulder. Seonghwa used his precome to get him sloppy and wet, enjoying the way the curl of his hand covered Hongjoong’s whole dick, fitting perfectly in his fingers. 

Then Seonghwa jerked him off fast, watching Hongjoong buck into his hand with quick, stuttered thrusts as he chased the sensation. Seonghwa had been so hard he was afraid he’d come in his pants, watching Hongjoong fall apart in his hand. 

He tightened his grip every so often, speeding up the pace of his strokes just to see Hongjoong’s knees buckle. It was on one particularly rough twist of his hand that Hongjoong came, whimpering into the fabric of his shirt as he painted Seonghwa’s hand with his release. 

They hadn’t gone further than handjobs before Hongjoong had left. Not for lack of effort on Hongjoong’s part, because Hongjoong kept trying to put his mouth dangerously near Seonghwa’s cock, pull Seonghwa’s hands onto his ass, near his hole. Seonghwa stopped him every time with a shake of his head, guilt flaring at the disappointment in Hongjoong’s eyes. 

He’s a coward, he knows. But he can’t stop thinking about how he’s Hongjoong’s first, for _everything_. The responsibility of it scares him more than anything. He’d rather die than fuck up Hongjoong’s firsts. Much better to take it slow, so slow, almost glacial. Even if the look in Hongjoong’s eyes when he stops them makes him feel like scum, makes him want to do anything to see it wiped away. 

“Seonghwa?” Hongjoong’s panted question cuts into his train of thought. 

“I’m here,” he answers quickly. His erection has wilted slightly, and he runs his fingertips over his dick to refocus. 

“Oh, good.” There’s a sound like Hongjoong’s turning over. “I, uh, miss touching you,” he says, and then laughs self consciously. “Ah, I’m so bad at this. I don’t know what to say.”

“Not at all. You’re doing so good,” Seonghwa assures him. He gives himself a few more strokes, hardening just from the sound of Hongjoong’s voice. “When was the last time you jerked off?”

“Oh, um. A couple days ago?” It sounds more like a question than an answer. “I fingered myself,” Hongjoong admits, voice pitched low, and Seonghwa has to squeeze the base of his dick, because _God,_ that image is more than he can handle. 

“Did it—” Seonghwa coughs in an attempt to speak in a normal tone. “Did it feel good?” 

“It felt...weird.” 

“Not everyone likes it,” Seonghwa reassures him. 

“I know.” Hongjoong huffs out a sigh, and Seonghwa imagines him stretched out, stroking his cock leisurely while he talks to Seonghwa. “But it wasn’t bad. I think my fingers are just too short to, uh. Do it right.”

 _Ah._ Seonghwa bites off a groan, hand pausing where it’s curled loosely around his dick. “Maybe I could help you next time,” he says before he remembers his effort to take things slow.

“Yeah?” Hongjoong’s voice hitches on the question. “I want your fingers in me so bad, hyung,” he confesses, the words spilling out in a rush. 

Seonghwa bites his lip, hard. “Do you want to try again now?” he asks. 

“Wouldn’t that be boring for you?”

He wants to laugh, except he’s too turned on by the thought for it to be funny. “It would be the farthest thing from boring,” he answers instead. 

“Okay, maybe if you could, you know, tell me what to do.” Hongjoong’s voice is small. 

Seonghwa tries to pull himself together. “Do you have lube?”

He hears movement, then silence for a few long seconds. “I have some lotion from the hotel, if that works?” Hongjoong asks when he returns.

“That’s good,” Seonghwa approves. “Can you slick up your finger for me—” _baby,_ he almost adds at the end of the question, but clamps down on his tongue before the word can slip out. He shakes it off, listens for when Hongjoong hums in acknowledgement. “Good,” he continues. “Play with your hole. Just touch it, don’t put your finger in yet.” 

“Mmmm,” Hongjoong sighs, the sound going straight to Seonghwa’s dick. 

“How does it feel?”

“It’s—good.” He sounds out of breath. “What should I do now?”

“Put it in, just an inch,” Seonghwa instructs. Hongjoong lets out a little breath, barely audible through the phone. “Now put it in all the way. Go slow, though, okay?” 

Seonghwa has to focus to hide how affected he is by this, to keep his voice at a reasonable pitch. He listens to the sound of Hongjoong’s labored breathing. “Feeling good still, or weird?” 

“Good, hyung,” Hongjoong groans, the words slow and stretched like taffy. “Wish it was you, though.”

Seonghwa pinches his thigh to stave off a wave of arousal. “Wish it was me too,” he chokes out. “Wish I could open you up with my fingers. I bet you’d take it so good, be so hot and tight for me,” he bites his lip to keep more filth from spilling out.

Hongjoong _whimpers_. “Hyung, I’m close,” he pants out. “Want you inside me, ah—”

If he sounds like this at one finger, Seonghwa can’t even imagine how he’d sound split open on Seonghwa’s cock. “Do you want to put another finger in? Or do you want to come?”

“Want to, ah,” Hongjoong pauses, another moan tumbling out. “Want to put another in.”

Seonghwa strokes his dick, precome easing the slide of his hand. He’s so wet, just from the _noises_ Hongjoong’s making, from the thought of him pumping his fingers into himself in his hotel room. Imagining him tongue-tied and shameless with arousal, so far from the smiling innocence he usually projects.

“Slick it first,” he manages to say. 

Hongjoong answers with a high pitched sound. “Full,” he mumbles, and then he cries out, “Ah—ah!” 

The sound is different, almost pained, startling Seonghwa out of his turned on haze. “Joongie, are you okay?” he asks quickly. 

“Hyung, I,” Hongjoong pants. “I think I found it. The place.” 

_Oh._ Seonghwa swallows hard. “Your prostate?”

“Y-yeah. _Oh_ ,” Hongjoong whimpers. “It feels really good when I press on it, hyung, _ah_ —”

“That’s it,” Seonghwa says, groaning openly as he pumps himself faster. “You sound so hot. You’re making me feel so good, you know that?”

“It’s so loud,” Hongjoong moans, and Seonghwa can hear the slick movements of his hand on his cock. “What if people can hear?”

“They should hear,” Seonghwa answers him, barely able to think with how close he is to orgasm. “They should hear how much you want it, how much you love fucking yourself with your fingers.”

Hongjoong makes a sound like he’s being driven out of his mind. “Hyung, are you close—I’m gonna come, please—”

“Come for me,” Seonghwa bites out, and this time he too far gone to control himself, “Want to fuck you so bad, baby, want to fill you up with my cock, make you feel so good, baby—” 

He comes with a stuttered moan, mind going blank for a few glorious seconds, the pleasure of release sparking through every part of him. 

When he returns to the moment, he’s breathing hard, hand and stomach splattered with his semen. He thinks he can hear Hongjoong breathing heavily through the phone. And then he realizes what he said, and he wants to hit himself. _You fucking had to, didn’t you?_ he berates himself. _You had to cross the line._

“Hongjoong-ah,” he says once he gets his breathing under control. He winces at the sound of his voice, still raspy from arousal, but continues. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“I liked it,” Hongjoong interrupts him before he can finish his apology. “Hyung, I know what you’re trying to say, but don’t. I liked it. I liked all of it,” he adds, quieter.

“I liked it too,” he manages to say, relief coursing through him. 

Hongjoong laughs, the sound loose and warm. “I could tell. I don’t think you’ve ever said that many words at once.”

“I am offended,” Seonghwa retorts, relaxing into their banter. “I’ve got come all over me,” he adds, looking at where his ejaculate is drying on his stomach and hand. The sun’s slowly coming up, too, infusing his room with light and reminding him of the time. “Are you still going to nap?” 

Hongjoong sighs. “I don’t know. I have to be at a fansign in a couple hours.” There’s another rustling sound, like he’s rolling over. “I miss you.”

“You’ll be back in three days,” Seonghwa tells him, like he doesn’t already know. 

“Can we get dinner when I get back?” Hongjoong asks suddenly. “At my apartment, maybe, ‘cause I’ll look like shit after the flight.”

“Sure, that works,” Seonghwa answers after a beat. He’s the first person Hongjoong wants to see after his trip, that’s—interesting. Hongjoong wants to see him even if he’s exhausted from jetlag and the discomfort of a long flight. The fact makes him feel light, buoyant. 

“Okay, cool.” Hongjoong’s voice grows distant, and Seonghwa hears the sound of the shower running. “Do you have to work soon?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“I’ll let you get going, then.” His voice is louder, now, close to the phone. “Have a great day, hyung.”

“Thanks, you too.” Seonghwa pauses with his finger hovering over the _end call_ button. “Goodbye.”

“Bye, _baby_.”

“Oh my god.”

Hongjoong laughs again. “See you soon,” he says, and then Seonghwa’s blinking at a _call ended_ screen. They’d talked for almost two hours, his phone tells him. 

He gets up, the dried come patchy on his skin, and pads over to start the shower. A few days, he thinks under the spray of the hot water, and closes his eyes. Just a few more days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im @eongkyeo on twt if u wanna be friends!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why do i even bother at this point!! haha. ha. i'll say my usual, i think there will be one more chapter before it ends :) 
> 
> notes:  
> joong POV (not sure how i feel abt it, but w/e)  
> sex involves some dirty talk and roughness but it is all consensual  
> there are mentions of a character going into subspace!! 
> 
> let me know if there's anything else i should be warning for!

Hongjoong fishes his phone out of his pocket as soon as his plane lands in Seoul, two hours later than it was supposed to. **just landed!!** he texts Seonghwa, thumbs flying. **soooo sorry about the delay :(((**

First class means he’s off the plane in minutes, and it’s just when he’s shuffling through customs that his phone vibrates. 

_No problem at all. Do you still want to have dinner?_  
_I have some food from the restaurant if you’re hungry. But no worries if you’re too tired._

“Sir, you’re free to go,” the clerk tells him. 

“Oh, thanks.” He looks up and grabs his passport, mind working to come up with the right response. _Say yes, but don’t sound too desperate, leave an excuse for him to say no if he doesn’t want to._ **i would love to, if you’re still free!!** he texts as he walks towards where KQ’s driver is waiting. 

_Sounds good. I’ll head over there now._

Hongjoong responds with a gif of a fat cat burping out hearts, and tucks his phone into his pocket. 

His bodyguards guide him through the crowd that’s gathered to meet him. He does his best to smile and nod at the cameras and phones following him, but it’s claustrophobic, as always. The silence of the inside of the car is such a relief. 

Hongjoong sags in his seat and closes his eyes, the chaos of the past two weeks finally catching up to him. 

“To your apartment, Hongjoong-ssi?” the driver asks.

“Yes, thank you.”

At least he had been able to warn Seonghwa about the delay before take-off. That’s good. Seonghwa isn’t the type to get mad about things like this anyway, but Hongjoong _is_ , because now he’s bare-faced and kind of sweaty and probably smells like feet from more than twenty hours of transit. 

He meant to wash his face and put on some light makeup, maybe change into something sexier than the oversized glasses and comfy yellow tracksuit he’s currently wearing, but the delay threw those plans out the window. Now he’s just hoping Seonghwa’s into the disheveled look.

 _Seonghwa._ Despite his exhaustion, Hongjoong’s practically vibrating with anticipation. 

He was surprised by how much he missed Seonghwa during the trip. Little things kept him front and center in Hongjoong’s mind, like the Angry Bird plushies he saw at a toy store, or the replica of the planet Mars they put up at the festival to fit the constellation theme of his set. 

It’s frightening how quickly he’s become addicted to whatever they are. He misses the awkward, boxy smile Seonghwa tries to hide whenever Hongjoong holds his hand. He misses the way they have whole conversations with just their eyes, an ability left over from trainee days. He misses the way Seonghwa looks at him, as if Hongjoong is something incredibly bright, like the sun, brilliant but unable to tear his eyes away. 

Anyway, he sent a bunch of pictures to Seonghwa during the trip. The responses — _cute_ or sometimes _where is that?_ — made him smile so hard his cheeks hurt. His manager actually asked him if he had a girlfriend, he was making dumb faces at his phone so much. But he doesn’t care. He’s always been afraid of being annoying, too much, but now he’s starting to believe that Seonghwa might actually _like_ his particular brand of corniness. 

And all of that isn’t even getting into whatever the _fuck_ happened a few days ago. Just thinking about it makes Hongjoong’s insides squirm. He shifts in his seat, remembering how Seonghwa’s voice had gotten so low, rough like gravel, even when he was telling Hongjoong how good he was —

Hongjoong breathes in deeply, playing with the zipper of the tracksuit. He has to calm down before he gets to the apartment. They’re just going to have dinner. They’ll both be tired, after long weeks, and they’ll eat and maybe watch something and then fall asleep on the couch. Or Seonghwa will go home. 

Whatever happens, it’ll be nice just to see him, Hongjoong tells himself. 

Seonghwa’s already standing outside his building when they pull up to the curb. 

He looks so good. He always looks good. Hongjoong lets his eyes linger over his outfit, long-sleeved beige shirt tucked into off-white slacks. He looks elegant and long, leaning against the building, one hand in his pocket as he scrolls through his phone. 

“Hongjoong-ssi, do you need help with the bags?” 

Hongjoong starts, turning his eyes away from Seonghwa’s figure. “No, that’s alright, I’ll take them up myself,” he says, and then realizes he needs to leave the car. “Thanks so much. Have a good day,” he adds, and opens the car door. 

His two suitcases are heavy, but he manages to lift them out of the trunk with only a little heaving, conscious of Seonghwa’s eyes on him. As the car drives away, he steels himself and drags them over to where Seonghwa is standing. 

“Hi,” he says when he gets close, blinking up at him. He’s not sure what his face is doing, but he’s sure it’s the same stupid smile he can’t seem to suppress whenever Seonghwa’s around. 

“Hi,” Seonghwa replies. The corner of his mouth is turned up, like he thinks Hongjoong is something small and cute. “Let me take those,” he continues, reaching down to grab the suitcases. 

“It’s okay, I got it —” 

He takes the handles from Hongjoong, ignoring his protests, then nods his head towards the door. “Can you get that?”

“Really?” Hongjoong puts his hands on his hips, feigning offense to cover up how his heart is beating faster. “Just because I’m short, doesn’t mean I’m weak,” he mutters, then flashes his key fob to open the door. 

The receptionist gives them a smile and a nod as they walk past. “Welcome back, Hongjoong-ssi,” she says, and Hongjoong must be imagining the way her eyes twinkle, looking between him and Seonghwa. 

Once they're enclosed in the elevator, he risks a glance at Seonghwa, forcing himself to maintain eye contact when Seonghwa looks back. "So, how was your day?" he asks.

"Better than yours, probably," Seonghwa replies, with that same slight, curved smile. He really just doesn’t want Hongjoong to exist, that’s good. That’s fine. 

_Calm,_ Hongjoong reminds himself. _Be normal, please._

The elevator dings before he can try to respond. Hongjoong leads the way toward his apartment, fumbling in his pocket for his keys as Seonghwa drags the suitcases behind him. At least his ass looks good in these pants. He wonders if Seonghwa's looking. 

The sight of his apartment gives him an immediate sense of comfort. He bought it a couple years ago, figuring it was past time he had a place to live other than the KQ dorms. He had the money, anyway, even if he didn't have any reason to take advantage of the newfound privacy. 

"Sorry it's messy," he throws over his shoulder as he flicks on the lights. 

Seonghwa closes the door behind him, letting the bags lean against the kitchen counter. "Wouldn't expect anything else." 

When he turns, Seonghwa is looking at him with an expression Hongjoong has learned means affection, fondness. It’s almost the same as Seonghwa’s normal impassive expression, but there's a slight upturn to his mouth, like he's trying to keep from smiling fully, and his eyes are warm. 

Hongjoong feels his nerves evaporate, suddenly too tired to second-guess himself. He walks forward and folds himself around Seonghwa, buries his face into Seonghwa's chest and squeezes him tightly. After a second, Seonghwa's arms encircle him, hesitant. 

"Missed you," Hongjoong says, the words muffled by the way his face is smushed into Seonghwa's shoulder. 

Seonghwa's hold tightens. "Missed you too," he replies into Hongjoong's hair. 

After a minute more, Hongjoong withdraws. 

Seonghwa did miss him, it looks like, the way he’s staring down at Hongjoong, eyes darting around his face like he's not sure Hongjoong is really here. 

Hongjoong wants to kiss him so badly. He's about to lean in, watching the way Seonghwa's eyes dip to his mouth, and then his stomach lets out the loudest growl he's ever heard it make.

He ducks his head in embarrassment, but not before he sees Seonghwa's eyes crinkle in amusement. 

"I guess I should put the food in the microwave, then.” 

"I haven't eaten for twelve hours," Hongjoong tells him, his face hot. 

"Totally understandable." Seonghwa picks up his bag and pulls out a couple of plastic containers. "Skewers and rice okay? Sorry it's nothing fancy." 

"I would eat anything at this point. Even you," Hongjoong says with fervor. Seonghwa pauses and throws him a significant look. Hongjoong thinks over what he said, and _oh._ He turns red. "I mean, I'm just—really hungry."

Seonghwa just presses his lips together, amusement clear in his eyes. Wow. Now he’s teasing Hongjoong, and about _sex things_. Life is really unfair. "Plates are?" Seonghwa asks. 

"Oh, over there.” Hongjoong pulls himself together and points to the farthest cabinet. "Do you want some help? It's my house, after all."

"Don't worry about it," Seonghwa waves his offer away, focused on transferring the food from the containers onto two plates.

Once the plates are in the microwave, Seonghwa turns back. They're separated by the kitchen counter now. Hongjoong gulps down the butterflies in his stomach as Seonghwa looks at him. "Can you come over here, then?" Hongjoong risks, hands clenching into fists in his pockets. 

Seonghwa comes to stand in front of him, but it’s not as close as Hongjoong wants him to be, damn it. 

Hongjoong tilts his head up slightly to look at him. "Hi," he says again, grinning like he knows it’s a dumb thing to say. 

He squeaks when Seonghwa takes his chin in one hand and tips his head back even further, moving forward so his body crowds Hongjoong against the counter. His hands come up, so careful, to remove Hongjoong’s glasses, and he sets them on the counter behind him. 

"You said that already." Seonghwa smiles, so close now that Hongjoong’s eyes cross as he looks at him.

Hongjoong rises onto his tiptoes to press their lips together, and Seonghwa makes a noise of approval against his mouth. He raises a hand to hold Hongjoong’s jaw, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Their tongues slide together, slow and warm, and _God_ , Hongjoong can't believe he forgot how good this was. 

Seonghwa kisses him deliberately, takes his time to explore every corner of Hongjoong’s mouth like it’s the first time they’ve kissed. Hongjoong loses himself in the slow, languid pace of it, exhaustion and arousal making him sag, boneless, against the counter. Seonghwa sucks on his tongue and it feels dirty, like his mouth is being fucked. It's only the heat of Seonghwa's body, caging him in, that stops him from collapsing. 

Then Seonghwa shifts closer, to the right, and his thigh presses right into Hongjoong's groin. "Ah, fuck," Seonghwa whispers into his neck, pushing his thigh harder against Honjoong's erection, and then —

The microwave beeps, loudly. 

Seonghwa withdraws. 

When Hongjoong is able to blink back into focus, Seonghwa has taken a careful step away from him. He sucks in a deep breath, conscious of how his entire body is trembling. "I changed my mind, not hungry anymore.” 

Seonghwa’s laugh sounds a little hysterical. "No, you should eat," he says, looking everywhere but Hongjoong, and walks behind him to get the food out of the microwave. He places the plates on the edge of the counter and takes a seat. "Come on, Joong-ah." 

Hongjoong takes one last deep breath and takes a seat next to him. He's starving, he remembers that now, but even the pile of food doesn't keep his eyes from wandering to the bulge that's straining the crotch of Seonghwa's slacks. 

Seonghwa snaps a finger in front of his eyes. "Yah! We're eating now, focus."

"I want to eat," Hongjoong jokes, staring dreamily at Seonghwa's erection. 

"That isn't even funny, Hongjoong." Seonghwa grips his chopsticks so tightly Hongjoong is afraid they’ll break. 

"You thought it was funny before," he mutters, transferring his gaze to his plate. 

They eat in silence for a while. Hongjoong is so hungry, he forgets he was about to come in his pants, like, five minutes ago. Seonghwa doesn’t eat much and finishes before him. He sits silently, drinking water and watching Hongjoong eat. 

"Enjoying the show?" Hongjoong asks, mouth full of rice. 

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Hongjoong-ssi." 

He swallows the huge mouthful with some effort. "I wouldn't if you'd fill it with something else," he says sweetly, and can't help but giggle when Seonghwa chokes on the sip of water he'd just taken. 

"When did you become so — " Seonghwa waves a hand wildly, searching for words. 

"Clever?" 

"Dirty-minded," Seonghwa counters. "Without shame." 

Hongjoong shrugs. "It's been on my mind for a long time, what can I say." 

Seonghwa studies him. "You're not kidding." 

"Why would I be kidding?" He takes a gulp of water, finally feeling satisfied with how much food he's shoveled into himself. 

"How long?" 

Hongjoong pauses to think. "Uh, since we met, I guess." 

It's the truth. He'd wanted to swallow down Seonghwa's dick since they were trainees, when he didn't even know what a blowjob was, but the thought of making Seonghwa feel good in the badwrong way made his stomach hot. 

"Since we met—at the restaurant?" Seonghwa asks slowly. 

"Uh, no. The first time we met," Hongjoong says, a little embarrassed now.

"Oh." Seonghwa doesn’t say anything else. He stares into space, expression distant. 

Hongjoong takes the opportunity to pick up his plate, stacking it on top of his and bringing them over to the sink. The movement jars Seonghwa out of whatever daze he was lost in. 

"You don't have to do that," he says, frowning as Hongjoong rinses the plates and places them in the dishwasher. 

"Least I can do." He steals a glance at Seonghwa. "Was that weird?" 

"No," Seonghwa says after a moment. 

"That's not extremely convincing." Hongjoong wants to hit himself. Why would he admit that? Joking around is one thing, but dropping the fact that he was thirsting after Seonghwa’s dick when they were _kids_ is just stupid. "Sorry, just forget I said anything —"

"Joong-ah," Seonghwa interrupts him. "You know I thought about you like that, too. It's not weird," he finishes, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as Hongjoong. 

"Okay," Hongjoong smiles nervously, hands twisting around his dishtowel. “So, um —”

Seonghwa’s phone buzzes, cutting him off before he can say anything more ill-advised. Seonghwa takes a look at the caller ID and frowns. 

“Take it if you need to,” Hongjoong encourages him.

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, of course. Actually, I’ll just jump in the shower while you’re at it,” Hongjoong adds, aware of how gross he still feels. “Then maybe we can watch something?”

Seonghwa nods. He picks up the call, eyes still on Hongjoong. “Park Seonghwa,” he says into the phone, the words cool and clipped. That tone definitely does not affect Hongjoong at all, nope, nah. 

He makes his way to the bathroom, wondering again whether Seonghwa’s looking at his ass as he goes. 

Once he’s in the bathroom, he strips quickly and waits a minute for the water to get hot. The spray of the shower feels like heaven, and he lathers soap over his whole body, scrubbing away the residue of the plane. After he’s done, he pats himself dry. Then he realizes he hasn’t brought a change of clothes into the bathroom with him. 

He has his bathrobe. He could wear that on the short walk to his bedroom, change in the room without Seonghwa seeing. That would be because they’re supposed to be having a chill night, watch some rom-com or Netflix show and cuddle tastefully until Seonghwa politely bids him goodnight. 

Or. Or, he could put on the bathrobe, which is short, ending at his mid-thigh, tie it loosely around his middle and go back out like that. 

That would be because he really, really wants to suck Seonghwa’s dick tonight.

He reminds himself that Seonghwa’s probably tired too, and will probably stop him like he usually does whenever Hongjoong gets too excited. But he may as well try. 

After a last second check in the mirror, he inhales deeply and steps out.

Seonghwa’s face does a weird, almost painful looking contortion when he sees Hongjoong. “I’m going to have to call you back,” he rushes into the phone, and then sets it on the counter. His eyes sweep up and down, and Hongjoong feels exposed, even under the bathrobe. “That is not clothes,” Seonghwa tells him, the words strained, like he’s forcing them out.

“It’s what all the kids are wearing in America.” Hongjoong takes a few steps forward, and likes the way Seonghwa’s whole body tenses, eyes darting to his legs and then up to the ceiling. “Do you like it?”

“Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa starts, and then stops. “You’re not tired?” he says finally.

“No,” Hongjoong replies. They’re close enough to kiss now. He makes his intentions known with a flick of his eyes to Seonghwa’s mouth. He won’t push it, not if Seonghwa’s not feeling it, but God does he want it. It seems like Seonghwa wants it too, the way his gaze is dark, hot on Hongjoong’s face. 

Seonghwa must lean forward because the next second they’re kissing again. Hongjoong moans and wraps his arms around Seonghwa’s neck, pushing him back so he’s caught against the wall this time. Seonghwa licks into Hongjoong’s mouth eagerly, tongue-fucking him like before, but this time it’s sloppier, less careful. More like Seonghwa wants to put his mark all over Hongjoong, wants him dirty with Seonghwa’s spit and saliva so everyone knows who ruined him that way. 

Seonghwa’s hands rest on his waist and dip down just a little, testing. “Can I — ?” he breathes against Hongjoong’s mouth, and Hongjoong nods with too much enthusiasm. 

He grabs Hongjoong’s ass then, long fingers massaging the softness of his cheeks. The movement pulls them flush against one another, and Hongjoong’s abdomen rubs up against the hard bulge of Seonghwa’s cock. 

“I wanna blow you,” he pants into Seonghwa’s neck.

Seonghwa’s hands leave his ass. “Joong-ah,” he says, pulling Hongjoong’s head back so he can look at his face. “I don’t know if that’s —”

“I know you’re worried because it’s my first time, but I promise, I’ll be really careful with my teeth.” Hongjoong knows he’s begging, but he can’t make himself stop. “I’ll make it so good for you, I promise, please —” 

“Hongjoong.” Distaste writes itself across Seonghwa’s face, and Hongjoong wilts. “You think I’m worried about your—you think I’m worried about you _doing a good job_?” he asks, disgust dripping from the words.

“I don’t know.” Hongjoong’s voice is small, uncertain. “You always stop me. And I get it, I would never pressure you into doing something you’re uncomfortable with —”

“You want this?” Seonghwa interrupts him. “You really want to do this, not because you think it’s what I want, or what we should do?” 

“Yeah,” Hongjoong replies. He stands up straighter. “Yeah, I’ve been trying to tell you that. I really want this. I want to suck you off,” he finishes, quieter, but defiant. 

Seonghwa exhales a long, tense breath. “Okay.”

“Okay? You want to?” Hongjoong can’t help the way he perks up. Seonghwa’s not going to stop them. He can barely believe it. 

“Of course I fucking—come here,” Seonghwa tugs him back and kisses him firmly. Hongjoong melts into the kiss for a while—he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of kissing him—and then lets his hand wander down to rub Seonghwa’s erection over his pants. 

“Missed this,” Hongjoong whispers into his ear.

“Did you?” Seonghwa’s voice is breathless. He sucks in air through his nose as Hongjoong unbuttons his pants and unzips his fly. His whole body shudders when Hongjoong kneads at his dick through his boxers. 

Hongjoong starts to lower to his knees, then, but Seonghwa stops him with an alarmed expression. “Here?” he asks. “What about your knees?”

“Hyung, I don’t care,” Hongjoong says, and it must be enough to convince him, because Seonghwa lets him sink down the rest of the way without further complaint. 

He pulls Seonghwa’s pants and boxers down with one motion and Seonghwa’s dick springs out, fully hard, and almost hits him in the face. He hears Seonghwa inhale sharply above him, but he’s too focused on what’s in front of him to pay much attention. 

God, he loves Seonghwa’s cock. It’s a couple inches longer than Hongjoong’s own, and it’s so big that his hand can’t close around it fully, leaving a gap of a few centimeters between his fingers. 

Hongjoong takes him in hand like he’s used to and gives him a few slow strokes. Then he leans forward and takes the head into his mouth, sucking on it like it’s a lollipop. Above him, Seonghwa lets out a deep groan. 

He tries to take it deeper, inch by inch, but he only gets halfway before his gag reflex kicks in and he chokes, pulling off. 

“You okay?” Seonghwa forces out. Hongjoong looks up and is pleased to see that he looks affected, face flushed and body tight like a wire.

“Mmm,” Hongjoong hums in affirmation, and moves forward to take his dick into his mouth again. This time he stops before he gags and bobs his head up and down like he’s seen in porn. He gets into a rhythm like that, careful of his teeth, and swipes his tongue under the head to give it extra attention. 

“Fucking— _God,_ Joong-ah,” Seonghwa bites out above him. 

He pulls off with a wet sound. “Call me baby again,” he commands, feeling brave. “Please.”

“Yeah, of course, baby,” Seonghwa breathes. He reaches down and swipes at Hongjoong’s bottom lip with his thumb, his eyes full of what looks like wonder. “Whatever you want.” 

“Can you—can you fuck my face?” Hongjoong feels his face redden. “It’s too big for me to do it on my own.”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa says after a long second. “Yeah, I can do that for you.” He threads a hand through Hongjoong’s hair and tightens, just slightly, but enough for Hongjoong to whine, eyes slipping shut. “Open your mouth, sweetheart,” Seonghwa says, and Hongjoong wants to _melt._

He fucks into Hongjoong’s mouth slowly, lets him relax around his cock as Hongjoong takes it deeper than he could by himself. Seonghwa stops before he gets in too far and fucks his throat like that, with slow, pulsing thrusts. 

“Fuck, you’re taking it so well,” Seonghwa says roughly. Hongjoong is slipping, falling somewhere deep inside himself, lost in the slide of Seonghwa’s dick between his lips. “Keep your eyes on me, baby,” Seonghwa reprimands him, and he blinks his eyes open, not sure when he shut them. 

“You’re a natural,” Seonghwa tells him. “Can’t believe this is your first time. Like you were made for this,” he adds, that same wonder in his voice. Hongjoong feels so, so warm, the words making his cock jump and dribble precome against his stomach. 

Seonghwa keeps his eyes locked on Hongjoong as he pushes his cock deeper into Hongjoong’s mouth, so far it brushes the back of his throat. Hongjoong’s eyes water, throat convulsing as he tries to keep from gagging against it. He keeps his eyes on Seonghwa, though, even as they try to flutter closed, tears leaking down his cheeks. Seonghwa thrusts against the back of his throat, and he’s so _deep_ , Hongjoong thinks he feels it in his stomach. He manages for a few seconds and then can’t stop from gagging, body shuddering against the invasion. 

When Seonghwa pulls out there’s a thick line of saliva connecting Hongjoong’s lips to his cock. Hongjoong reaches up to wipe it away, cheeks red, but Seonghwa stops him. “Spread it on me,” he says instead. “Use your hand.”

Hongjoong captures the spit with his hand and smooths it over Seonghwa’s dick, gets him even wetter than he was before. It’s slick and messy and Hongjoong cannot believe the entirety of his cock was just inside his mouth. His throat feels raw. He’s still in that floaty, warm space where all he can focus on is Seonghwa’s dick, how good it feels in his hands, how he wants to choke on it again. 

“You doing okay, baby?” Seonghwa asks, gaze intent on his face. 

“Yeah,” Hongjoong rasps out. He brings up his other hand and jerks Seonghwa off with two, because he knows Seonghwa likes that, even if his hands are still too tiny to cover much of it. “I like it.”

“You like sucking my dick?” Seonghwa asks, voice low. “Did you like it when I fucked your throat?”

“Y-yeah,” Hongjoong says, the word coming out as a whimper. “Can you do it again?”

“You sure? Your throat sounds like it hurts.” 

“No, it’s okay. Please,” Hongjoong feels the urge to beg again. He wants Seonghwa’s cock in his mouth. It’s so good, he’s _gone_ over the feeling. “Please, I want it—”

“Alright, alright, sweetheart,” the words are meant to be soothing, Hongjoong knows, but even Seonghwa sounds like he’s close to losing it. “Open up.”

He sucks the cock into his mouth eagerly, hands coming up to rest on Seonghwa’s thighs as he hears Seonghwa bite off a curse above him. “Eyes,” he reminds Hongjoong, and Hongjoong flicks his eyes up to where Seonghwa is staring down at him. He knows he’s a mess, spit, tears, and drool smeared all over his face, and the thought of Seonghwa seeing it makes him flush.

“I’m gonna come, baby,” Seonghwa grinds out, the hand in Hongjoong’s hair pulling tight. Hongjoong sucks harder. “Baby, move,” Seonghwa says insistently, and tries to pull him off his dick. 

Hongjoong braces his hands on Seonghwa’s thighs and takes him to the root, dick hitting the back of his throat again. He stays there, eyes watering as he looks up at Seonghwa, and then he swallows around his dick. 

“Oh _fuck,_ ” Seonghwa breathes, and then there’s hot liquid pouring down Hongjoong’s throat. He swallows it, throat working to keep it down without gagging. It tastes bad, bitter and musty, but it’s _Seongwa’s,_ and the look in Seonghwa’s eyes as he swallows it down is the best reward. “Yeah, that’s right, so good for me, baby,” Seonghwa groans, gaze locked on Hongjoong. 

When Hongjoong thinks the stream of come is over, he pulls off and swipes a hand at his mouth. Seonghwa’s dick is still hard, though starting to shrink. He can’t help but lean forward and give the head a little lick, just to remember what it tastes like. 

“Ah,” Seonghwa jerks away from him with a huff of amusement. “Sensitive.” 

Hongjoong sits back. The warmth is all around him, tingling on the back of his neck. He really did that. He sucked Seonghwa’s dick and made him come like that. Him, Kim Hongjoong. 

“Baby, thank you. That was so good.” Seonghwa tucks himself back into his pants and Hongjoong almost whines in complaint. He crouches in front of Hongjoong, taking his chin in his hand like he did before and examining his face. “How’re you doing?”

“Hard,” Hongjoong moans. He’d forgotten about his own arousal, but his dick is throbbing against his abdomen. He feels like he’s been on edge for hours. “Please, I want—”

“What do you want, sweetheart?” 

Hongjoong’s not sure why the names affect him this much. It might be the way Seonghwa says them, the tenderness like a knife wound in his belly, so soft it hurts. “I don’t care, I just want to come,” he forces out. 

Seonghwa scoots back and sits with his back against the wall, legs spread in a V. “Come here,” he beckons to Hongjoong, patting the floor in front of him. 

It takes all of Hongjoong’s energy to settle himself against Seonghwa’s chest. Once he’s there, the feeling of being held grounds him, the heat of Seonghwa’s body all along his back. The way he’s sitting makes the the bathrobe slip open, revealing his hard cock bobbing against his stomach, shiny with precome. 

Seonghwa reaches a hand around and grips him firmly. Hongjoong gasps at the sensation and bucks up, chasing the tight hold. “Like this, huh?” Seonghwa asks him, the words whispered into his ear. He nods. 

“More, please, _ah_ —” he whimpers as Seonghwa starts to jerk him off in earnest, hand slick with Hongjoong’s precome. He knows how Hongjoong likes it, now, knows to tighten his hand so it’s almost painful, rub his thumb over the head roughly. “Gonna come soon, hyung,” Hongjoong pants out, abdomen tensing as he thrusts into Seonghwa’s hand. 

“Come for me, baby,” Seonghwa breathes into his ear, and then he’s sucking at Hongjoong’s neck as Hongjoong comes, riding his orgasm through the roaring in his ears, sensation concentrated in the single burst of pure pleasure. 

He slumps his head back onto Seonghwa’s shoulder when he comes back to life, eyes slipping shut. He feels wrung out, like after an intense dance practice. 

“Good?” Seonghwa asks him. His voice sounds amused. 

Hongjoong blinks one eye open. It’s so warm against Seonghwa’s chest, the comfort of his hold making Hongjoong want to slip off into sleep. “So good,” he whispers, trying to shift even closer. “Thank you.”

“I think I should be thanking you.” Seonghwa lets him sit like that for longer than he expects, and he’s about to slide into unconsciousness when Seonghwa shakes him, gently. “Joongie, let’s get into bed.” 

He murmurs something and burrows deeper, shaking his head. He knows he’s acting like a child, but he’s been awake for 24 hours and he’s so _tired._

“I’m going to pick you up now, okay?” Before Hongjoong can absorb the words, Seonghwa has moved out from behind him and slipped an arm underneath Hongjoong’s thighs, the other arm under his back. He picks Hongjoong up like that, bridal style, like it’s nothing. 

Hongjoong’s barely awake as he gets carried to his bedroom. He feels, distantly, the softness of his pillow and the covers pulled over him, tucked around his body. Then there’s a spark of fear in his stomach. “Stay,” he mumbles, hand reaching out in the darkness. 

He’s so close to sleep but he hears a sigh next to him. “You want me to?” Seonghwa asks quietly. 

“Hyung, stay with me,” he manages to answer. After a long moment, he feels another body dip into the bed. Seonghwa’s arms come around him, spooning him close, and he wriggles back into the hold, smiling with his eyes closed. “Mmm.”

“Goodnight, baby,” Seonghwa whispers into his ear, and that’s the last thing he remembers before falling asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to publish this on aug 9 so the fic would be complete in a month but now it's 12:05 am smh
> 
> FYI theres a POV switch in the middle lol!
> 
> hongjoong texts exactly like i do haha. i might be hongjoong in this fic shh tell no one 
> 
> can't believe i thought this fic would be THREE CHAPTERS when i published it and now it's freakin NINE and 30k+ words. damn.

Hongjoong wakes up to the sound of a garbage truck beeping, loud and incessant outside his window. He sighs into his pillow and rolls over.

His bed feels absolutely glorious after so many nights on stiff hotel mattresses. For a few moments he just lays there, revelling in how _incredible_ it is to wake up and not have to think about what he has to do for the day. To wake up and just _relax._

Then the events of last night rush through his mind. 

He looks down at how extremely naked he is—he must have taken off the bathrobe during the night, because it’s nowhere to be seen—and then lets his head flop back on his pillow. If he’s being honest, he can barely believe that it actually happened. But when he swallows, his throat feels like it’s been rubbed raw. He checks and yep, his knees are red from kneeling on the cold linoleum of his kitchen floor. 

God _damn._ Hongjoong grins at the ceiling. So this is what it feels like to have superpowers, he thinks. He feels absently at his sore throat, where Seonghwa’s cock was, thick and heavy on his tongue. Even with his dick in Hongjoong’s mouth, Seonghwa was so — he was so _gentle._

Hongjoong feels warm, remembering it, the way Seonghwa stared at him as Hongjoong took his cock down his throat. Hongjoong’s never been looked at like that before. Like he’s the only thing in the entire world. _Literally mind-blowing,_ he thinks with a stupid smile, wondering if Seonghwa would find it funny. Probably not. 

Seonghwa slept over, he remembers belatedly. He’s gone now, but Hongjoong remembers being held, arms twisted around him as he slipped into sleep. He cringes when he recalls how he practically ordered Seonghwa to stay with him. Maybe Seonghwa left during the night, or early in the morning? 

He looks around for his phone, but a post-it note on his bedside table catches his eye. 

_Hi,_ it begins. _We really need to stop meeting like this._

_Ha, ha,_ Hongjoong thinks. And he’s supposed to be the one with the dumb sense of humor. 

_Had to go into work early. Sorry. I’m a little afraid I went too far last night. I hope you’re feeling alright. Text me when you wake up._

It’s signed _Seonghwa_. 

Hongjoong reads the note one more time and then sets it down, heart beating faster for no reason. Part of him is relieved that Seonghwa left because of work, not because of Hongjoong’s clinginess. On the other hand, he kind of can’t believe Seonghwa’s still not sure if he’s into what they do. God, Hongjoong’s embarrassed by how obvious his thirst is. He remembers how he literally begged Seonghwa for his dick and flushes. 

He wanders out of his room, not bothering to put on clothes, and grabs his phone from the kitchen table. Wow, okay, he slept for a ridiculously long time. It’s nearly 3 p.m. He has a bunch of text messages and notifications from various apps, but nothing from Seonghwa. 

God, he needs to text Seonghwa. He must think Hongjoong’s dead. Or worse, Hongjoong realizes with a drop in his stomach, he might think Hongjoong’s actually angry about what happened last night. Fuck. 

_hi good morning!!_ he texts as quickly as he can. _im doing great, feelin good, very happy!!_ After a second, he adds, _howre you? hows work??_

After two minutes, it still says delivered, but unread. He turns up the notification volume and leaves the phone on the counter, stomach growling. 

After two weeks away, he most likely has no good food and will have to order something in. But he opens his fridge anyway. There could be some salvageable leftovers, and he’s not picky when he’s hungry. 

Except the fridge isn’t empty like he expected. He stands there, staring at the plate of pancakes covered in plastic wrap that’s sitting on the middle shelf. He leans in to get a closer look. Yep, those are definitely pancakes. He prods at them with one tentative finger. 

Hongjoong loves himself, but he 100% did not make pancakes before he left and leave them on a plate for when he got back. 

Oh man. _Seonghwa._

He looks around at his kitchen. There’s no sign that Seonghwa whipped up a batch of pancakes before he left the apartment. Nothing in the sink, no pan on the stove. The counter is wiped cleaner than Hongjoong’s ever left it. Seonghwa covered his tracks so well. 

_THANK YOU FOR THE PANCAKES_ he texts, smile so wide it threatens to take over his entire face. _ur amazing wow_

Delivered, unread. Hongjoong waits for a few moments and then puts the phone down again, turning back to the pancakes. Looks like Seonghwa found his secret stash of chocolate chips, Hongjoong realizes as he puts the plate in the microwave. He almost wants to cry. Who the fuck does this? Makes chocolate chip pancakes in the dead of night and leaves, just like that? 

He drizzles copious amounts of syrup onto the pancakes and inhales them in less than five minutes, burning his tongue without regret. He doesn’t even bother to get a fork, just eats with his hands. They’re delicious. So, so good. When he’s done, Hongjoong sits back and sighs in satisfaction.

“FANCY...OOOOH,” his phone blares on the table. Oh, fuck, he forgot he set that as his ringtone. He grabs the phone and nearly drops it in his haste to pick up when he sees <33 seonghwa hyung <33 as the caller ID. 

“Hi,” he rushes to say, grinning at his plate.

“Hi.” Seonghwa sounds like he’s smiling, too, and Hongjoong’s heart swells. “I hope you slept well.” 

“I did,” Hongjoong confirms. “When did you leave?”

“Around 5, I think.” Seonghwa’s voice is casual, but Hongjoong hears the tiredness in it, even if it’s well-masked. “We had a bit of an issue last night, and I wasn’t—much help, so I had to come in this morning.” 

Hongjoong frowns. “What kind of issue? Is everything okay?”

He hears the sound of papers rustling. “Everything’s fine now. A pipe exploded and the fire department came,” Seonghwa explains. “No one was hurt, though. It should be fixed soon.” 

“Oh, wow.” Hongjoong traces a finger around his empty plate and licks the syrup from it. “I’m sorry for, uh, distracting you.” He winces. _Very suave._

“Not a problem. It was a good distraction,” Seonghwa says, and now he sounds hesitant. “How’re you feeling?” 

“Well, I just ate like five pancakes in as many minutes, so I’d say pretty good.” 

“You found those?”

Hongjoong scoffs. “Oh my god, like you thought I wouldn’t?” He’s getting a little chilly, sitting there naked, so he puts the call on speaker phone and carries it with him as he goes back into the bedroom. “When did you make them, anyway?” he asks, pulling out a t-shirt and boxers. 

“Before I left,” Seonghwa says. “Just thought you might be hungry when you woke up.” 

“Well, you thought right. Thank you _so_ much, hyung.” Hongjoong finishes dressing and returns to the living area. He flops down on the couch. “Wish I could thank you in another way, too,” he ventures, tracing the floral pattern of the pillows with a finger. 

Seonghwa clears his throat. “We should talk about that, Joong-ah,” he says, serious, and that wasn’t really the response Hongjoong was looking for. 

“What’s there to talk about?”

“I’m worried about, you know, taking things too quickly.” Seonghwa sounds pained. “I think I went too far last night, and I’m—I wanted to apologize to you.”

Hongjoong feels his good mood drop. “There’s no need to apologize, I had a great time,” he replies. He tries to make it sound sincere, because it _is_ , he had a fucking amazing time, and he wants to do it again, like, yesterday. He thinks it’s dumb he has to say it, because it’s obvious. “Did _you_ have a good time?”

“Yes, but I—”

“Good, well then, we both enjoyed ourselves and we should do it again if we want to.” Hongjoong pinches the skin of his thigh between his fingers. “What more is there to talk about?”

Seonghwa sighs before he speaks. “I just want to make sure you’re not doing too much too fast. You’re—you’re not as experienced, and it can be overwhelming —”

There’s a pit forming in Hongjoong’s stomach. “So this is about me being a virgin?” he asks, curt without really meaning to be, but come _on._ He doesn’t see why Seonghwa has to make things so complicated. “That’s kind of not for you to decide, whether we’re going too fast or not for me. Even if I’m _inexperienced._ ” 

“Hongjoong-ah.” Seonghwa sounds pained again. “I know, but still. I feel some responsibility—”

Hongjoong laughs. It sounds mean, even to his ears. “Oh, come on, spare me the paternalism, hyung. You’re not my dad. I may be a virgin but I’m a full grown adult. It’s not like I don’t know what sex is, even if I haven’t been having it.”

“I wish you’d take this seriously, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says, and he sounds like he’s getting annoyed know. Fucking— _good_ , Hongjoong thinks viciously. If they’re going to fight, he wants it to be even, punch for punch. 

“You really think I’m a child, don’t you?” he throws out. “Do you know how patronizing you sound? You don’t know better than me, so please stop acting like it.”

Seonghwa makes a frustrated noise. “I’m not—don’t twist my words. I’m not trying to be patronizing. Though,” he grits out, “it would really help your case if you stopped acting like a child when I try to have serious conversations.” 

Hongjoong wants to laugh again. God, he can’t believe this. “I’ve been telling you, over and over: I. want. this.” he emphasizes each word. “But for some reason you can’t hear me. All you hear is, ‘Hongjoong doesn’t know what he really needs, so I have to decide for him.’” 

“That is not what I—” Seonghwa cuts off, and Hongjoong hears the sound of a door opening. 

“What is it?” he hears Seonghwa say, muffled slightly, like his hand is covering the phone. Hongjoong can’t hear anything for a minute, and then Seonghwa says, still muffled, “I’ll take care of it as soon as I can.” 

There’s the sound of the door closing and then Seonghwa is speaking to him again. “I have to go,” he tells Hongjoong, the words clipped and flat. 

Hongjoong swallows, hard. Guilt sweeps through him, suddenly, puncturing the hot swell of his anger. He doesn’t want to end the call this way. Doesn’t want to end with that. His apology is on the tip of his tongue, _wait, I didn’t mean—_.

Seonghwa speaks before he manages to. “Look, Hongjoong-ah,” he says, and his voice is softer now, almost sad. “I don’t think I know better than you. I know you are more than capable of making your own decisions. I’m not used to—” he pauses, and when he speaks again, the words come slow and careful. “I’m not used to having this kind of intimacy with someone I—with someone I care about.” 

“Hyung,” Hongjoong whispers. His heart feels small and wounded in his chest. “I didn’t—”

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Seonghwa cuts him off. “We can talk later.” 

“Seonghwa, wait—”

The phone beeps at him, and Hongjoong pulls it away from his ear to see that the call is ended. 

_Fuck._ He curls loosely onto his side, phone dropping onto the couch. He fucked up. He’s reminded of how it felt when they fought last time, outside of Loco’s party, like a knife twisted in his stomach. He didn’t need to go that far, _fuck._ He was so full of self-righteous outrage that he didn’t even let Seonghwa speak. Like a spoiled, self-absorbed kid. Just like what he told Seonghwa he wasn’t. 

He sucks in a heaving breath, feeling tears build behind his eyes. But no, he needs to focus, to apologize to Seonghwa, fix the damage before it’s too late. 

His phone is hidden in the folds of the couch, and he picks it up with shaking hands. 

_i’m really sorry_ he types out, vision blurry. _i was out of line, i shouldn’t have—_ he pauses and thinks before continuing. _said that stuff, i was just being stupid. i still would love to talk if you want to._

Delivered. Unread. Hongjoong lets the phone fall onto the couch again and sinks down with it, burying his wet face into the pillow. 

______

An hour later, Seonghwa still hasn’t responded. Two hours, and Hongjoong can’t count the number of times he’s typed out paragraphs of text into the chat head and deleted them, shaking his head. Seonghwa still hasn’t even read his messages. He’s going insane. 

It’s probably not that bad, he tries to reassure himself. Seonghwa’s busy with work things, most likely, too busy to look at his phone. He’s not ignoring Hongjoong because he’s thinking of how best to break things off. How exactly to say, _gee, this has been fun, but I’m actually not an emotional masochist who enjoys dad jokes and musicals, so, um, see ya!_

It’s probably not that bad. 

Hongjoong tries to distract himself with composing, but all of the work he did before the trip sounds hollow and unoriginal when he listens to it now. He’s tempted to delete it, he’s that frustrated, but stops himself, closing his laptop and putting it aside. He watches Beauty and the Beast for the fiftieth time and cries again at the end, when they get together and everything is so lovely and joyful. 

It’s around 8 p.m. when his phone beeps. He’d turned up the volume so high it sounds like a fire detector, and Hongjoong jumps, heart in his throat as he checks the notification. 

Then he deflates just as quickly, because it’s Eden. 

**hello my favorite dongsaeng**  
**you’re finally back right?**

Hongjoong sighs. 

_hi hyung! i am back yes!_  
_missed u!! how r u?_

**good! I missed you too**  
**want to go out tonight? there’s a new dj playing at madholic**

Oh. Hongjoong lets his head fall back onto the couch. Does he want to go out tonight? He feels exhausted despite having slept so long, likely because his nerves have been running high and tight for hours. But. Going out could be a good way to get rid of all of that tension. Especially if Seonghwa isn’t going to respond to him today. It would only be a temporary distraction, but he knows it would be an effective one, the music so loud it would drown out his thoughts for a bit. 

_yeah! that sounds fun!!_ he responds. 

**coooool can’t wait**  
**let’s meet around 11?**

_great :)) see you soon!_

Hongjoong pushes himself off the couch and pads over to the shower. Thank God for his apartment’s water pressure. The hot spray feels amazing, massaging his body, and he scrubs at his skin until it turns red. 

He puts on blue contact lenses and does his foundation and eye makeup with careful hands. His hair looks fine. The stylists did a root treatment right before he left, but he can already see dark brown poking its way out of his scalp. He might go back to natural soon, give it a break before whatever they dream up for his second album. 

Then he pulls on a sleeveless red top that spells _danzig_ across the front in black lettering. He got it at a thrift shop somewhere, too long ago to remember exactly which country. For bottoms, he goes with light-wash jeans held up by a thin black belt. The jeans cut off above his ankle to show his thick-soled white sneakers. 

After a second of hesitation, he fastens a narrow black choker around his neck and ties another band around his arm. He leaves his silver studs in. 

It’s not bad, he thinks, regarding himself in the mirror. 

He thinks about sending Seonghwa a selca, like he did at the ice cream shop the other time they fought. That selca was the beginning of the best night of his life. The night they kissed, and—his cheeks redden—other things happened, things that he will not acknowledge as long as he’s alive. 

But that night at the ice cream shop, Hongjoong’s inhibitions were softened by tequila. And Seonghwa had only come because Hongjoong was drunk, acting like a fool, and Seonghwa was worried about him. If he sent one now, Seonghwa would probably just think he was being immature again. 

Then there’s no more time to think it over, because it’s 10:30. Hongjoong calls an uber. 

The ride should take about a half hour. Hongjoong settles into his seat, eyes about to slip shut, when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out and fumbles it, hands turning to jelly. It’s Seonghwa. 

“Hyung, hi,” he breathes into the phone, aware of the driver in front of him.

“Hi. Sorry I didn’t call you back sooner. Busy day.” 

Seonghwa sounds even more tired than he did before, but not angry, Hongjoong thinks, heart in his throat. He swallows. “Are you just getting back home now?”

“Yeah.” Hongjoong hears the sound of keys jangling, then the open and close of a door. “Do you want to video?” Seonghwa asks him. 

_Shit._ “I, um, I can’t,” Hongjoong says. “I’m on my way somewhere.” 

Seonghwa doesn’t reply for a beat. “Where are you going?” he asks, and his tone is different, like he’s frowning. 

“Meeting Eden.” Hongjoong doesn’t know why he’s feeling guilty all of a sudden. 

“A bar?”

“A club,” he corrects, wincing. “There’s a new DJ he wanted to check out.” Seonghwa doesn’t respond for a few seconds. “Are you mad at me?” he asks, quieter, eyes flicking to the driver. 

Hongjoong thinks he hears a sigh. “I’m not mad at you for going to a club, Hongjoong-ah.” 

“I meant, about the stuff before?” he says, feeling his stomach contract with nerves. 

Another sigh. “It wasn’t a good conversation to have over the phone in the first place,” Seonghwa says. He sounds resigned. “I do wish you had let me finish before getting angry.”

“Sorry.” The word comes out smaller than Hongjoong means it. He feels like trash. 

“But,” Seonghwa continues, “you were right about most things, as usual.” He laughs, but it doesn’t sound happy. The trash feeling intensifies. “I haven’t been treating you as an equal part of this. I should have listened to you better. I’m sorry.” 

“I’m sorry too,” Hongjoong chokes out, and God, he feels tears building behind his eyes. “I just got upset. I didn’t mean what I said.” He sniffles and sucks in a hitched breath. 

“Joong-ah, please do not cry.” Seonghwa sounds alarmed. “Please, it’s okay. It’s fine, we apologized, we’re fine.”

“‘M not crying,” he mutters, and swipes under his eyes carefully to make sure his eyeliner hasn’t bled. He breathes in and out, deeply, trying to regain calm. When he looks out the window, he notices that they’re getting close to the club. “Hyung, I’m gonna be there soon,” he says apologetically. “But I can stay on the line.”

“No, don’t worry about it.” Seonghwa doesn’t speak for a long moment, and then: “Joong-ah,” he says, and his voice is hesitant. “I would really prefer if you didn’t—” he stops. “Nevermind.”

“No, what?” Hongjoong pushes the question out, curious. 

“I know you’re not pleased with me,” Seonghwa starts, regret evident in his tone. “And you have no obligation to—I mean, I know it’s what you do at a club. Drinking, and dancing with people—”

“Hyung,” Hongjoong says, a feeling he can’t identify rising in him. 

“It’s your body, and you can do whatever you want with it, but I,” Seognhwa pauses and his next words come out in a rush. “I’d really prefer if I were the only one who—”

“Hyung,” Hongjoong cuts in again. All at once he feels warm. Seonghwa’s _jealous,_ he realizes, and it’s so cute Hongjoong wants to burst. “I’m just going there to see Eden,” he says firmly, pretending he’s not biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. “I’m not interested in doing anything with anyone except you.” 

“Okay,” Seonghwa replies after a beat. He makes a drawn-out, frustrated noise. “God, I swear I’m not this person.”

“Not what person?” Hongjoong can’t help but smile then, glad that Seonghwa can’t see him. 

Seonghwa groans. “I’m not—possessive. I want you to have fun with your friends. I trust you, I mean.”

“Those are good things,” Hongjoong tells him cheerfully. “I like those things.”

Silence. And then, “You’re enjoying this,” Seonghwa accuses him. He huffs, feigning offense, but Hongjoong can hear the thread of amusement in the sound. “Wish I’d let you cry before.” 

“No you don’t.” 

“No, I don’t,” Seonghwa admits after a moment, and Hongjoong can hear his slight smile through the phone. Then, “You’re almost there?”

“Yeah, actually, we’re just pulling up.” Hongjoong thanks the driver and gets out. There’s a line down the block, but Hongjoong knows the bouncer, and it shouldn’t be a problem. “I guess I should go, hyung.” 

“Alright, have fun,” Seonghwa says. Hongjoong is about to hang up when he cuts in again quickly. “Joong-ah, I can pick you up if you need it. You and Eden both,” he adds, and then pauses. “But if you’d rather call a ride that’s fine too, of course.”

That same unidentifiable emotion burns through Hongjoong. “You sure it won’t be too late?” 

“I’ll probably be up,” Seonghwa answers. “Just let me know, okay?”

“Okay, thanks, that’s really nice.” Hongjoong scuffs a foot on the pavement. “Bye, hyung.” He wants to call him baby, like he’s wanted to ever since Seonghwa let it slip on the phone that first time, but he stops himself. Seonghwa would just freak out, probably. 

He hangs up and makes his way to the door of the club, nodding to the bouncer, who lets him in with a smile and a handshake. Inside, the place is teeming with people. Hongjoong knows from experience that it’s still relatively empty. These kinds of venues only really start the party around midnight. Since the DJ hasn’t started yet, they’re blasting EDM hits from huge speakers in the walls. 

He makes his way through the crush of bodies to where Eden stands against the back wall. 

“Joongie, you made it,” he greets Hongjoong, holding his arms open wide. When Hongjoong steps back from the hug, Eden gives him a once-over, eyebrows raised. “Is Seonghwa coming?”

Hongjoong blushes. “Not tonight.” He looks down at his outfit. “Is it that bad?” 

Eden shrugs. “It’s a little different from your normal attire. I like it though.” He grins and pushes Hongjoong’s shoulder. “You’re the only person I’ve ever seen come to a club wearing a beret and suspenders.” 

“That was _one time_ ,” Hongjoong retorts, but he can’t keep a smile from bubbling up. 

Despite the noise, and the crowd, he feels happy, relaxed even. Maybe it’s being with Eden, who he’s known for a decade at this point, or maybe it’s that he heard Seonghwa’s voice and he wasn’t mad at Hongjoong. It loosens the tightness in his stomach and limbs, because he now knows he and Seonghwa are okay.

“So tell me about your trip,” Eden interrupts him, and Hongjoong obliges. 

They chat for a while, swapping stories from the past couple weeks. Eden offers to get him a drink, but Hongjoong declines. He’s still recovering from jetlag and the emotional rollercoaster of the day; he doesn’t need to add alcohol into that mix. 

Plus, he might get to see Seonghwa later. He really would not like to make a fool of himself, again, if that happens. Better to play it safe. 

The new DJ starts their set soon after Eden returns from the bar, carrying a glass of something bright pink. Hongjoong follows him into the middle of the crowd. His sneakers catch in the stickiness of the ground and he’s sweating, overheated. He doesn’t love the kind of music they play at clubs, but he closes his eyes and lets the beat wash through him, pulses his body in time with the rhythm. He catches a few people staring at him, but he can’t tell if it’s because they want to fuck him or because they recognize who he is. He doesn’t really care either way. 

It’s well into the set when Eden gets approached. A woman in jeans and fitted white shirt holds his arm and leans up to whisper something in his ear that Hongjoong can’t hear. And that’s that, he thinks, holding in a smile. 

Eden turns to him. He’s drunk, Hongjoong can see, face flushed from exertion and a few mixed drinks. “‘Sokay if I go dance?” he says, leaning in to ask the question into Hongjoong’s ear. 

“Yeah, of course,” Hongjoong responds. He grabs Eden’s arm before he can move away. “I might leave soon, just so you know. I’m kinda tired.”

“No problem,” Eden waves a hand. “Just text me when you’re going, ‘kay?” He ruffles Hongjoong’s hair, almost elbowing the woman in the face as he does. “Have fun with Seonghwa,” he adds, then winks and turns away. 

Okay, Hongjoong definitely deserved that. 

He draws in a breath of clear, cool air when he strolls out of the club. His ears are numb from how loud the music was. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he walks a little ways down the street to get out of the crowd. 

_hey_ he texts Seonghwa. _u up?_

It’s a little past 1 a.m. Seonghwa’s probably asleep, he tells himself, tries to clamp down on the anticipation that’s simmering in his stomach. He focuses on his breathing. His body temperature is slowly coming down to normal, but he still feels damp and hot. He waves his arms around to get air flowing to his armpits. 

Then his phone buzzes. **I’m up. How’s it going?**

He grins. _eden’s hooking up w someone so i left lol_

The reply comes almost instantaneously. **Want me to pick you up?**

_only if it’s convenient for u!! i know it’s kinda late ://_

**It’s no problem.**

Hongjoong texts him the name of the club and, after checking, Seonghwa lets him know that it’ll take about 15 minutes for him to get there. Hongjoong sends a gif of a cat disco dancing and opens Instagram while he waits. His nerves are bubbling up again, but this time it’s the good kind of nervous, a hot-sour excitement that makes his hand tremble where it holds his phone. 

_______

Hongjoong’s trying to murder him.

There is no other possible explanation for what he looks like. Seonghwa turns on the radio with a shaky hand to distract himself from the person sitting next to him. The person he’s swapped spit with countless times at this point, but who’s still somehow able to render him absolutely speechless with lust. 

The choker and makeup on their own are deadly. But the shirt is the worst of it. Seonghwa’s seen most of Hongjoong naked at this point, but for some reason the sight of his bare arms makes Seonghwa want to do reckless things. Things like lean over and kiss him when they’re stopped at an intersection. Things like pull over and palm Hongjoong through his tight jeans until he’s gasping against Seonghwa’s mouth, jack him off like that so his hips rise off the seat, then capture his little punched out noises with his mouth when he comes. 

“How was the ride here?” Hongjoong asks, and Seonghwa cuts that train of thought off violently. 

“Easy,” he responds. “No traffic.”

“That’s good.” Hongjoong turn to look at him and Seonghwa tightens his hands on the steering wheel. “Thanks so much for coming to get me.”

Seonghwa clears his throat. “No problem,” he says. He feels like he should contribute more to the conversation, so he asks, “Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, it was great to see Eden. It was a little hot, though.” 

“You don’t seem like you drank anything,” Seonghwa ventures, trying to sound casual. 

“No.” Hongjoong’s voice is sheepish. “Figured it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Seonghwa nods at that, even though he doesn’t know exactly what it means. There are a number of reasons why someone would consider alcohol a bad idea. He’s not sure which one Hongjoong might be referring to. “So, Eden’s going home with someone?” he asks. 

“I don’t know, probably. He gets hit on a lot because he’s tall,” Hongjoong explains. 

“Do you usually—” Seonghwa starts to ask whether _Hongjoong_ usually gets hit on a lot, but that is so far down the path of bad ideas, he redirects the question clumsily. “Do you usually dress like that when you go out?” he asks instead, like that’s better. God, he needs to jump out the window before he can speak any more words. 

“Ah, I guess not.” When Seonghwa risks a glance to the side, Hongjoong’s looking down at his outfit, cheeks stained red. “It’s a little more exposed than what I’d normally wear.”

“I didn’t mean it doesn’t look good,” Seonghwa hurries to say. “It looks—you look really good,” he finishes lamely, and wants to bang his head into the steering wheel.

“Aw, thanks,” Hongjoong’s smiling at him, Seonghwa can feel it, but he pretends he’s too focused on the road to look back. 

They pull up in front of Hongjoong’s building. Seonghwa puts the car into park and then has nothing else to do with his hands. He grips his thighs to avoid doing something stupid like reaching over to brush Hongjoong’s sweaty hair out of his face. 

“So, um.” Hongjoong sounds hesitant. “You want to come up for a little?”

Seonghwa swallows and smooths his hands down his thighs before answering. “Are you sure?”

“Uh, yeah. We don’t have to do anything, you know,” Hongjoong offers. “Just wanted to talk, or watch a movie, or something. If you’re not too tired.”

“Okay, sure,” Seonghwa agrees. He wonders when he’ll ever be able to say no to Hongjoong. Probably around the same time he’s able to act like a human around him. 

Seonghwa makes the mistake of looking at Hongjoong in the bright light of the lobby and feels his breath catch in his throat. Hongjoong looks gorgeous, hair falling in his face, eyeliner smudged, the artificial blue of the contacts turning his appearance into something ethereal, almost otherworldly. 

“You’re staring at me,” Hongjoong tells him when they’re in the elevator. His smile looks nervous. “Are you sure _you_ haven’t drunk anything?”

“Sorry,” Seonghwa manages, and then moves his gaze to the ground. “Didn’t mean to.”

Hongjoong doesn’t say anything. 

When the elevator stops, they make their way to the apartment, Seonghwa trailing behind. He can’t believe it was just this morning that he was here. He’d woken up when it was still dark, limbs tangled with Hongjoong’s. Then he’d wriggled carefully out of Hongjoong’s hold, checked his phone and realized whatever Chanyoung called him about last night was actually quite serious.

He didn’t regret the night at all. The way Hongjoong swallowed his dick down like that—Seonghwa could barely concentrate at work today, kept recalling flashes of how Hongjoong looked with his mouth full of Seonghwa’s cock. The way he sucked on Seonghwa’s dick like he loved it, even when the size of it made him cry. 

“Sorry it’s still messy,” Hongjoong says after turning on the lights. He stands in front of Seonghwa and holds his hands behind his back. “So, should we watch something?”

“Sure, if you want to,” Seonghwa says. The space feels small to him, almost suffocating, even though they’re the only two there. Maybe it’s how Hongjoong’s looking at him, making him feel pinned in place for no reason. _That’s what you do when you converse,_ Seonghwa reminds himself. _You make eye contact._

“Or, we could…” Hongjoong trails off, biting his lip as he looks at Seonghwa. “If you want to. We can talk before, though.”

_Oh, fuck._ “I don’t think we need to talk,” Seonghwa says, throat tight. “Unless you want to?”

“Not really.” 

Seonghwa walks forward, then, until they’re close enough that their feet touch. He nearly loses his confidence at the way Hongjoong looks up at him through the fringe of his hair, eyes bright. He presses forward anyway and slots their mouths together, a hand coming up to tangle in Hongjoong’s hair. 

Hongjoong tastes a little salty, like sweat, but his lips are still the softest thing Seonghwa has ever felt. He brings his hands up to rest on Hongjoong’s bare shoulders, then smooths his hands up and down Hongjoong’s arms, his left hand catching on the armband that’s been driving him crazy. 

They kiss like that for a long time, deepening slowly, until Seonghwa can no longer ignore the throb of his arousal. 

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” Hongjoong whispers when they pause for breath. 

Seonghwa’s mind is scrambled, but he manages to nod.

As soon as they’re in the room, Hongjoong pulls off Seonghwa’s sweater with eager hands. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, gazing at Seonghwa’s chest and arms. 

Seonghwa feels heat spread on his neck, unsure whether it’s from the praise or the vulnerability of his nakedness. Then Hongjoong’s kissing him again, sucking on his tongue as he tries to pull down Seonghwa’s pants. 

Seonghwa lets Hongjoong undress him to his boxers, and then pushes him back gently. “Okay, pause,” he says. It’s hard to concentrate when Hongjoong’s like this, breathing hard, mouth red from being kissed, but he focuses against the pulse of his desire. “What are we doing? How far do you want to go?”

“I—” Hongjoong looks like he’s having trouble concentrating himself. “I want—can you finger me? Please,” he adds, blinking up at Seonghwa. 

“Yeah, of course,” Seonghwa says after a moment. His heart is thumping so loud, he thinks Hongjoong must be able to hear it. “Where’s your lube?”

Hongjoong points to the bathroom. “Second drawer on the right.” 

When Seonghwa returns, lube in hand, Hongjoong is standing there fully naked. He flushes as Seonghwa stares, eyes traveling across the expanse of bare skin. Hongjoong’s cock is red and leaking against his thigh. He holds his arms shyly in front of him. “How should I, um…”

“Get on the bed, all fours,” Seonghwa says. He knows, now, that Hongjoong likes when he guides him like this. He’s also noticed that Hongjoong has the tendency to go into subspace when they get deep into it, and that scares Seonghwa as much as it arouses him. The responsbility to not fuck up feels heavier when Hongjoong is like that, malleable and willing, like he’d do anything Seonghwa told him to. 

Seonghwa pulls off his boxers as Hongjoong kneels on the bed. 

The sight of him bent over like that, ass in the air, has Seonghwa biting off a curse. His hand presses on his dick. “Good job, baby,” he approves, the pet name falling out instinctually. 

He sets the lube on the bed and palms Hongjoong’s tiny ass with two hands, squeezes the flesh of it, then spreads his cheeks. His hole is pink and tightly furled, so pretty and secret. Seonghwa’s cock leaks precome against his stomach. 

“Can I eat you out, baby?” he asks. Suddenly it’s all he can think about, getting his tongue all over the soft swell of Hongjoong’s ass, his hole. “Joong-ah?” he prompts, when Hongjoong doesn’t answer. Hongjoong’s head is hanging down between his shoulders, and Seonghwa can’t see his face. 

“Yeah,” Hongjoong forces out finally. “Yeah, please, hyung.”

Seonghwa leans down and licks over his hole, drawing out a sharp gasp. The sound turns into a drawn-out moan as Seonghwa sucks at his ass like he’s starving, gets the skin between Hongjoong’s cheeks wet with spit. Hongjoong jerks and twitches under his mouth like he can’t tell whether he wants to rock back into Seonghwa’s tongue or push away.

He makes a shocked, punched-out sound when Seonghwa pushes his tongue into his hole, just a couple centimeters. Seonghwa pulses his tongue like that, feeling Hongjoong’s sphincter clench and loosen around the tip of his tongue. Then he pulls it out and draws back. “How’re you doing, sweetheart?” he asks, voice rough like sandpaper. He keeps a hand on Hongjoong’s ass, massaging it in a way he hopes is soothing. 

He himself is anything but soothed. Hongjoong’s hole is shiny with his saliva, and it twitches under his gaze. Seonghwa thinks he’ll die if he doesn’t get his fingers in it soon. 

“Good, so good,” Hongjoong gasps. Seonghwa still can’t see his face, but the urgency of his voice is enough to convince him. 

He grabs the lube and slicks up a finger. “Gonna put a finger in, so relax, okay?”

Hongjoong hums in acknowledgement. 

Even Seonghwa’s finger looks huge, held in front of Hongjoong’s entrance. He presses the finger in slowly, letting Hongjoong adjust to the intrusion. Once it’s in to the knuckle, Seonghwa pauses and reaches up with his other hand to touch Hongjoong’s side. “How’s that feel?”

“It’s good. Really good, hyung.” Hongjoong clenches around his finger and groans. “It’s so big.”

Seonghwa fucks him with the one finger, feeling Hongjoong’s walls tighten and relax around it. He’s so hot and tight inside, it’s hard to move, but the lube eases the way. Seonghwa gives it a few minutes, eyes glued to where his finger is opening Hongjoong up, and then touches Hongjoong’s back again. 

“Ready for another, baby? Or is one enough?”

“Another, please,” Hongjoong responds immediately. 

Seonghwa drizzles more lube onto his hand and fits two fingers against Hongjoong’s entrance. He’s a bit looser now, more relaxed, and he groans as Seonghwa presses his fingers in, head falling down onto the sheets. 

“So full,” he breathes, the words muffled against the bed. 

“You’re incredible, baby,” Seonghwa praises him as he pumps his hand in and out, keeping the pace slow and deliberate. “Taking my fingers so well.”

“ _Ah—_ ” Hongjoong jerks forward at one stroke of his fingers. “Oh my god,” he pants, and Seonghwa starts to draw his hand back, concerned. “No no no, please,” Hongjoong begs, and Seonghwa realizes what happened. 

“Did I hit your prostate?” Seonghwa bites his lip, pleased. He drags his fingers until he finds the small bump, then presses on it with purpose. Hongjoong practically _screams_. His hips push back into Seonghwa’s hand. 

“Please, oh, please, Seonghwa—hyung, oh _fuck_ —”

Hongjoong’s fucking himself on Seonghwa’s fingers now, wriggling his hips to impale himself again and again. Seonghwa steadies his hand to meet the push of his ass. He wants to jerk himself off but his left hand isn’t enough, unable to get the right grip on his cock. 

“Want you to fuck me,” Hongjoong gasps out, and Seonghwa’s dick dribbles precome, adding to the slick trail of it on his stomach and thigh. “Want you to fuck me, please, hyung, want your cock in me—”

“I need to put another finger in before I can do that,” Seonghwa forces out. 

Hongjoong just moans, pushing his ass up in invitation. Seonghwa doesn’t bother to pull his hand out, this time, just drizzles more lube onto his fingers and pushes a third in alongside the others, careful of the way Hongjoong’s rim stretches to accommodate them. 

“God,” Hongjoong whimpers. He’s folded down now, head buried in the sheets, arms unable to hold him up anymore. “Oh my god.”

Seonghwa preps him for longer than he thinks is strictly necessary, until even the slide of three fingers is wet and smooth, Hongjoong’s hole taking them in with ease. Seonghwa’s not taking any chances, not with something this important.

When he finally thinks Hongjoong’s ready, he pulls his fingers out with care. Hongjoong makes a plaintive sound. “I’m gonna put a condom on, baby,” Seonghwa soothes him. 

There’s an old one buried in his bag, and he practically runs into the kitchen to grab it. When he returns, Hongjoong is still ass up, smooth thighs on display. Seonghwa smooths the condom over his dick with trembling hands, then touches Hongjoong’s shoulder. “Can you turn over, Joong-ah?”

Hongjoong makes another sound into the bed. After a second, though, he rolls over slowly, settling himself on his back. 

God, Seonghwa was such an idiot to tell him to get on his hands and knees before. It means he’s missed this, the way Hongjoong’s flushed all over, dick leaking against his stomach and eyes blown out with arousal. 

Hongjoong won’t look at him directly. He casts his eyes on the wall instead, cheeks pink, and brings his knees up like he can’t handle Seonghwa seeing him so exposed. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Seonghwa says softly, crawling onto the bed so he can sit in front of Hongjoong’s knees. They part, slowly, as Hongjoong forces himself to relax. Seonghwa rubs his thighs, encouraging, and refuses to let himself stare at Hongjoong’s erection. “You still want me to fuck you? We don’t have to, you know.” 

He means it. He may feel like he’s going to die if he doesn’t get his cock inside Hongjoong’s tight hole, where his fingers were just moments ago, but he’d never want to without Hongjoong feeling absolutely, one hundred percent into it. 

“Yeah, please.” Hongjoong pushes himself onto his elbows with effort and nods hard. “Please, hyung, I want to. Want you,” he adds, softer. 

“Want you too, baby,” Seonghwa says. Nerves spark through him, suddenly, but he shakes them off and guides Hongjoong’s thighs up slowly. Then he lines up the head of his cock at Hongjoong’s entrance. 

Hongjoong lets out a shaky breath. 

“You ready?” Seonghwa asks, and Hongjoong nods, eyes locked on his.

The noise Seonghwa makes as he pushes inside doesn’t even sound human. Seonghwa’s never felt anything as good as the way Hongjoong feels around his dick, hot like a furnace, and _tight_ , so fucking tight. 

Hongjoong moans, the sound low and tortured, as Seonghwa presses into him. When Seonghwa’s fully seated inside him, Hongjoong’s eyes flicker shut, bottom lip held between his teeth. 

Seonghwa brings up one hand to hold his jaw. “Eyes open, baby,” he says. He feels winded already, like he’s run a marathon. “How’s it feel?” 

“You’re so big.” Hongjoong shifts, and the movement forces Seonghwa’s cock deeper. “Fuck me,” he begs, and Seonghwa is so turned on he thinks he’ll _die._

He fucks Hongjoong with shallow, careful thrusts, relying on the last thread of his self control to keep the pace slow and unhurried. It’s hard, so fucking hard, when Hongjoong gasps at one thrust and pushes his ass down onto Seonghwa’s cock. 

_Must’ve hit his prostate again_ , Seonghwa thinks. He can’t help but push into Hongjoong deliberately, trying to find the angle again. Hongjoong tips his head back against the sheets, his neck tight with tension. “Ah, ah,” he whimpers in time with Seonghwa’s thrusts. “Harder, please—”

Seonghwa fucks into him, hard, rocking him back against the bed with each thrust. “You want it harder, baby?” he grits out. He tries his best to hold on to his self control but Hongjoong is _killing_ him, the way he’s mewling at each thrust, hands gripping Seonghwa’s shoulders. 

He reaches a hand down to stroke Hongjoong’s cock, and Hongjoong gasps, jerking up into his hand. “You’re so tight, baby, like you were made for my cock,” he tells Hongjoong. “Wanted to fuck you for so long,” he says, and the words start to spill out without thought, “wanted your pretty ass around my cock when we were trainees, thought about fucking you all the time—”

“I’m gonna come,” Hongjoong tells him breathlessly. “Fuck, hyung, I’m gonna come—”

Seonghwa works his hand on Hongjoong’s cock roughly and thrusts into him at the same time. “Come on, baby, come on my cock,” he encourages. 

On his next thrust, Hongjoong keens and arches up, clenching around Seonghwa’s dick. The feeling pushes Seonghwa headlong into orgasm, and he drives into Hongjoong’s ass one last time, whole body white-hot with pleasure. 

When he’s done coming his arms feel like jelly, but he manages to roll off Hongjoong, pulling out carefully as he does. He peels the condom off and places it on the nightstand, hoping he remembers to throw it out later. 

They lay next to each other on the bed, panting. 

“Are you okay?” Seonghwa asks when his tongue works again. He turns his head to look at Hongjoong. 

“That was,” Hongjoong’s staring at the ceiling, mouth hanging open. “That was,” he says again, and Seonghwa feels himself start to smile. 

“Good?”

“Really good,” Hongjoong confirms, turning his head. Something in Seonghwa relaxes when he smiles, expression bright with happiness and a layer of shock, like he can’t believe what just happened. “Thank you.”

“Please stop thanking me after sex.” Some gut impulse makes Seonghwa reach over and grasp Hongjoong’s hand, interlocking their fingers. “It’s kind of a turn off,” he adds, pressing his lips together to keep from smiling. 

“Oh, is it?” Hongjoong smooths a thumb over the back of his palm. 

Something in Seonghwa is being broken and remade, the way they’re looking at each other. Something in him is unfurling, a part of him that he didn’t know existed, shaking off the dust and making itself known in his heart. 

“Are you tired?” he asks, and the moment is broken; he can breathe again. 

“Yeah. But I want to brush my teeth before bed,” Hongjoong says. “I can give you a spare toothbrush.”

The thing inside him pulses. “Okay, thanks.”

They brush their teeth next to each other, Hongjoong giggling at how Seonghwa looks with toothpaste foaming white around his mouth. “Very mature,” Seonghwa tells him, the words garbled. 

Hongjoong just laughs harder, and Seonghwa steps forward and plants a kiss on his mouth, mixing their toothpaste together. 

When he draws back, Hongjoong’s looking at him with an expression he can’t place. Seonghwa spits into the sink, suddenly self-conscious, and then straightens up. “What?” 

“You’re cute, that’s all,” Hongjoong says after a pause, and turns to spit into the sink after him. 

Seonghwa gets into the bed without being asked this time. Hongjoong slips in after and snuggles up to him so their faces are inches away, finding one of Seonghwa’s hands to hold. His eyes glitter in the dark. 

“I’m really glad I met you again,” Hongjoong says quietly. It sounds like a secret, hidden in the air between them.

Seonghwa swallows. “I’m really glad I met you, too.” 

Hongjoong’s close to sleep, he can tell, the way his breath slows, eyes fluttering closed. Seonghwa holds his hand, feeling the weight of it between his fingers. _I’m gonna give you everything,_ he thinks helplessly, watching the way Hongjoong breathes against the pillow, vulnerable and soft. _I swear, I’ll give you everything, even if it kills me._

“I love you,” he whispers. His heart beats, loud in the silence. 

He’s sure Hongjoong is asleep. But then, “Love you, too,” Hongjoong says, the words sleepy and faint. He sighs and shifts closer to Seonghwa, pushing his head under Seonghwa’s chin. “Always,” he sighs into Seonghwa’s neck. 

Seonghwa feels tears dripping down his cheeks. He can’t speak for a long moment, and then: “Love you always,” he breathes into Hongjoong’s hair, and closes his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sincere thanks to all the people who commented, and kudos'ed, and read, and befriended me on twt :')) i'll say it again, atiny are so cute and kind, i've been so happy writing this! love u all! lmk what u thought if u want!


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